


Merger

by beautifulwhensarcastic



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Peggy is stubborn and therefore frustrated, and other surfaces, eyefucking over the conference table
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulwhensarcastic/pseuds/beautifulwhensarcastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter will not hand in her family's legacy to an American company. And she most definitely will not give in to its CEO, even if Steve Rogers is infuriatingly alluring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like promised, I give you Steve and Peggy eyefucking over the conference table. Which is only the beginning of a really long foreplay that edges on the longest orgasm denial in history. Everyone’s frustrated. Author included. 
> 
> Tried to research big, fancy business world as much as I could, but let's be real here - it's more about Steve and Peggy wanting (and refusing) to bone each other than about their companies clashing. 
> 
> The story starts with Mature rating, but will become Explicit. The proper label will be used.
> 
> The first chapter is mildly inspired by this gifset - http://music-is-love-4ever.tumblr.com/post/142842166734/chris-evans

The fluid swish of scribbling combined with a softly spoken, yet sharp verbal duel slowly lulls Peggy. Previous rush of adrenaline tones down, leaving her armed only with the natural, vigilant streak that keeps her back ramrod straight.

For an outsider, like the darkhaired assistant who’s watching the game of counterarguments with a passion worth an award winning tv show, the negotiations on the merger seem fascinating.

Oh, they definitely would bore the girl to death, if it wasn’t for the representative lawyers of both sides slashing at each other so gracefully as if they’re dancing.

Peggy remembers the first time she’s seen Natasha at work when she washed down a nasty indictment charged by the RedRoom Ltd. Being impressed is a rare occurrence for Peggy Carter, but she was dazzled. And slightly turned on.

Natasha Romanoff is a lawyer worth every price and Peggy is ready to pay that, and more, to keep her working for Carters.

A dangerous creature, never coaxed out of her calm composure, taking each frustrated jab from her opponents with a ghost of a smirk. Then, before they know it, she’s got them tangled in a web, squirming and unable to escape the final sting.

Over the years Peggy got to know Natasha on a more personal level, too, daring even to name their relations as a form of friendship. Mutual respect, understanding and vastly inappropriate knowledge of intimate information shared over drinks.

Which is how she immediately recognized the smallest of scratches on Natasha’s perfectly polished exterior when the war with an American-based giant has ensued.

The moment PBB reached its hands for Carters’ legacy she sensed trouble, but underestimated how serious it would become.

International companies tried to sink their teeth in the little British empire for years, but for the first time the struggle is real. Peggy has taken over the firm less than three years ago, trying to prevent its destruction. Which wasn’t an easy task given how seriously her brother has damaged it. But she’s nothing if not determined. Sleepless nights, risky decisions and not always wanted cooperation helped rebuilding the core of the company. To the point where she felt secure against sharks like PBB.

Three months of dodging their representative, Phil Coulson, were merely an annoying little itch which Peggy didn’t consider threatening. Partly because she never let anyone intimidate her, but mostly because back then she still had great support of SHIELD Corp.

Then one night, like in some sort of an actual invasion, it was taken over. SHIELD crumbled to pieces and was swallowed by none other than PBB.

Peggy wanted nothing more at that moment than to find whoever was responsible for the downfall of her ally and dig his grave with her own hands.

She couldn’t allow herself, however, to lose focus and energy for blowing off helplesness-induced steam. She needed to concentrate on fighting off the monster that wanted to take over her company. They call it a merger for now - a subtle lie to sweeten the threat lurking behind the deal. Peggy's aware she's seen as an inferior part in this equation and if she doesn't stand her ground the merger will turn into a vicious takeover.

It’s her pride and stubborness driving her mostly, she knows. A sense of responsibility for the family's legacy, too. Not the reasonable voice which keeps reminding her of the impending doom, if she doesn’t tie a solid deal.

As yet, she still tries to pry their grabby hands off her firm. Hands, which against all her previous assumptions, turned out to be quite spry...

When faced with the giants themselves Peggy found herself at eye level with two broad chests belonging to men not much older than her.

Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes.

The latter being the first warning of the upcoming trouble.

Natasha’s hint of a smirk at him when they’ve met with the PBB’s CEOs and their lawyer, Sam Wilson, was enough for Peggy to realize she knows Barnes. No, more. They’ve fucked. Which doesnt necessarily mean they know anything beyond whose name to moan when they come.

Reserved, but not losing her faith in Romanoff, Peggy sighed with relief when the sharpness of Natasha’s skill cut through most of their opponent's demands and offers. Reassured that no amount of great sex is going to distract Natasha, or change her allegiance, Peggy let herself shut off during the meeting.

Her eyes skim over the interior - a catalogue sample of an intimidating, harsh conference room, where sharks swallow tiny fishes. She refrains from snorting, a tiny fish she’s not. Instead, she moves her focus onto particular items, like the catering table at the far end, situated right next to the floor to ceiling window.

Then Peggy darts her gaze to the assistant, with mild interest picking on a somewhat imperfect, out of place vibe she gives off by being put in this very modern, minimalistic room. Her vibrant fuchsia glasses and bright blue pen with a lollipop-like ending stick out in an overall professional coldness of her surroundings.

A young woman who, by so many, would be viewed as incompetent and too free spirited to be hired as an assistant to the most influential and busy men. Her presence makes Peggy wonder if maybe she’s the one judging her opponents by stereotypes.

She expected them to be much older, misogynistic and overstepping all boundaries, like most of the CEOs she has dealt with so far.

Instead, she got two men who not once shown any attempt at diminishing her competence. Nor did she notice them treating their assistant with anything other than respect. Sometimes with impatience, for which Rogers seems to always apologize anyway.

Peggy casts a glance toward Barnes, reacting with a noticeable roll of her eyes to the way he keeps staring at Natasha. A look bordering between admiration and pure, wicked want to fuck her on that table.

With a little squirm Peggy instantly takes her hands off the shiny, black surface, where a second ago her red nails drew meaningless patterns. An image of her opponent sprawled on the conference table, while her friend takes the upper hand, is not something she wants to dwell on.

Not that she doesn’t understand Natasha’s fondness of the man. Barnes is very easy on the eye, with his mussed up dark hair and mischievously twinkling, blue eyes.

He’s the one of the two CEOs who is prone to smile a lot, she’s noticed. A charming, cheeky flash which probably melted a few hearts and even more panties.

A sense of tingling spreads through her, causing her to frown at the unknown, but oddly unnerving feeling. As if someone’s watching her intently.

It’s then that she notices Rogers looking at her.

He’s always a quiet presence. Rarely speaking up, he tends to exchange knowing looks with Barnes and leans over to say something to the lawyer’s ear. His calm, but stern orders when he addresses their assistant are in a confusing contrast to the tender way he follows the harshness of his tone with an apology.

Peggy has met men who mask their aggression with politeness, the kind of men it’s better to stay away from than to let them apologize for the slap. Rogers is not that kind of man. The veneer may be similar, but she knows it’s not it.

He’s not aggressive, she thinks, rather determined and unyielding. Possibly bordering on stubbornly reckless.

Like her.

His gaze is fixed on Peggy, maybe in an attempt at intimidating the opponent, but she’s a Carter and she won’t give him the satisfaction of squirming under his intense stare. What Peggy has learned quite early on in her life is that a bully, trying to show his superiority, falters rather quickly when treated with lack of expected reaction.

So she arches her brow at him, unimpressed with his mien.

Usually it makes her rivals quiver, at least a little, forcing them to retreat from their bold approach. Rogers, however, remains unmoved.

With his elbow on the table he propped his head on his hand, fingers spread - thumb under his chin, index finger on his cheek and the middle digit covering his upper lip.

He’s handsome, she won’t deny. Peggy’s never been fond of stubble, but the neatly trimmed beard on Rogers’ face tempts her to reconsider her opinion on that matter. It suits him, adds an interesting edge and she can’t help thinking about the feeling of it grazing her skin.

He holds her gaze, slowly, lazily blinking. Peggy’s surprised noticing how long and thick his eyelashes are when they flutter against his cheek.

When he looks at her again a dangerous glimmer in his eyes jolts a sudden, hot wave down her spine.

Peggy’s lips part slightly, nearly expelling a tiny gasp, when the finger over his lips starts moving. It’s a slow, sensual brush, back and forth over his mouth. She feels drawn to it now, unable to look away.

The smallest quirk of his mouth tells her he finds her interest pleasing and she has an urge to take one of her shoes and throw it at him. But she won’t give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand in this childish staring contest. At least she tells herself that’s what it is, trying to ignore the throb in her abdomen.

Clenching her hands on the chair’s armrests, Peggy tilts her head challengingly. In response his lips curve in an unmistakable smirk.

He renews the movement of his finger across his upper lip before slowly dragging it down. She expects him to treat his lower lip in the same manner, but he does worse.

His mouth opens slightly and the digit slides in.

Peggy’s own lips open wider, this time purposely and she wets her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue. He frowns at that, but it’s not displeasure. His blue irises darken and it’s Peggy’s turn to feel pleased with the effect she has on him.

As if in a completely careless, natural movement, she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, then, ever so slowly, traces her red fingernails down the column of her throat.

By now Peggy would expect her opponent to tense, to show an obvious sign of arousal or annoyance, but Steven _fucking_  Rogers keeps calm and composed. And it annoys her.

Sharp edges of white teeth close down, trapping his finger and Peggy barely stops herself from cursing aloud.

 _Fuck_ , she’s wet.

As stealthy as she can manage on the overly soft, leather office chair, Peggy parts her thighs and tries readjusting, but it causes the fabric of her underwear to rub against her in the best way, making everything even worse.

Rogers bites on his finger then traces its tip with the pink of his tongue. Peggy tells herself she can stand it.

However, when he brings his ring finger to play, arranging it against the middle one, leaving a barely noticeable space between them, but enough for the tip of his tongue to swipe between them in a filthy way, Peggy tenses istantly.

Her nipples harden, she’s sure they’re visible through the tight fabric of the blue pencil dress she’s wearing. Touch of her own hand, involuntarily sliding down her cleavage, adds to the sensation.

The moment she rakes her fingernails over the stiffened peak Rogers finally tenses. His hand falls down from his mouth and he grips at the armrest. He looks as if he’s ready to pounce on her and Peggy really likes that idea.

She likes it too much.

She’s abruptly shaken from the haze when the static, soft tone of Wilson’s voice resounds louder, “Fifteen minutes break?”

Peggy blinks rapidly, turning back to the main show about which she forgot because of a rude intruder.

No one seems to direct their attention at her or Rogers, which she welcomes with relief. Sam is looking at Natasha and it’s clear his unexpected suggestion to break the negotiations is an attempt at stirring Romanoff’s flow.

It won’t work.

Natasha smiles politely, “Of course,” then puts her pen aside and very slowly turns her chair toward Peggy.

The first one to stand up is Barnes who takes a big pretzel from the catering table then excuses himself outside. The assistant and Wilson move next, nearly in unison heading for the table at the far end of the room, where the snacks and drinks are.

Rogers hasn’t moved from his spot, but Peggy no longer feels his gaze on her. It should make her feel better, but somehow it heightens the frustration, an irractional reaction which annoys her further. Though a part of her itches to see what suddenly averted his attention, Peggy refrains from checking.

After a few more seconds he finally stands up and walks away, somehow still staying in Peggy’s peripheral vision. Much to her dismay.

Needing a succesful distraction from her inappropriate thoughts, Peggy focuses on Natasha. “This room won’t be much sanitary, if Barnes doesn’t stop so obviously rerunning your raunchy adventures in his head.”

As expected, Natasha smirks, casting a quick glance over Peggy’s shoulder to the corridor outside the glass door where James walks back and forth, holding a phone in one hand and the pretzel in the other.

“Don’t worry, watching him steep in frustration is currently my only form of mixing pleasure with work.”

“Really?” Peggy arches a brow, “I thought you’re still banging.”

“No,” Natasha replies easily, clearly amused, “Not until the dust after this battle settles down. But it’ll be worth it.” The look she gives Peggy leaves no doubt about the kind of bonus she senses coming, quite literally, her way.

“I gave you a premium without even knowing it,” Peggy snorts and shakes her head, standing up before any innuendo leaves Natasha’s mouth.

After taking a few steps toward the catering table Peggy begins to question if it’s the right decision. Rogers is standing there, right in front of the window overlooking the city’s rooftops and shimmering glass of other skyscrapers.

His back is to hers and Peggy could find relief in the lack of eye contact, which they quite frankly overstepped a few minutes ago. The problem is that his back is equally attractive, especially in her now aroused state of mind.

He’s taller than her and though Peggy had various lovers, somehow she never went for ones much taller, maybe subconsciously avoiding the possibility of being belittled simply by physique. But part of her brain - fried now, she assumes - likes his towering silhouette, including the noteworthy dip from his broad shoulders to his narrow hips.

Digging her fingernails into the insides of her palms, Peggy averts her gaze from his ass.

Instead, she focuses on the box of tea bags on the table, because as her grandmother used to say - _Tea is better than regret and doesn’t leave a shameful taste on your tongue._

She pours water into the delicate, white cup and dips one of the bags in. Slowly stirring her tea, she moves a little closer to the window, her eyes taking in the sight of heavy, grey clouds cumulating over the city. Sunrays still pierce through them, casting wide spots of light on various buildings and streets.

Rogers stands next to her, with a proper space between them and apparently with no intention of moving closer. For which she's rather grateful.

They both seem determined on inspecting every detail of the panorama outside the thirty-sixth floor. She wonders if he’s maybe embarrassed of their little game.

When she glances at him curiously she catches him looking her way with a small frown which, she realizes after a few seconds of assessing, is directed at her choice of beverage. He is drinking coffee, _of course_. Black. Hot. Strong.

She rolls her eyes and turns back to watch the slow stream of clouds dropping lower over the skyscrapers’ tops.

Peggy feels her body relaxing as, sip by sip, the warmth of intense, black tea fills her. It awakens her brain anew, pushing away the stifling images of a bearded face buried between her thighs.

The regained composure and indifference shatter momentarily when a soft puff of breath tickles her lobe.

“We should fuck,” Rogers murmurs in her ear.

She chokes, spluttering tea back into the cup.

His close presence still lingers as she clears her throat and he doesn’t flinch when Peggy turns her head and levels him with a murderous look.

She could slap him, but that would ease only the annoyance flaring under her skin since the PBB laid their claim to her company. The different kind of frustration, which this asshole clearly prides himself on inflicting, should be extinguished, not fed with more impulsive reactions.

So, keeping her voice cold and steady, she seethes, “We most definitely should not.”

Rogers appears to be unsurprised, shows no sign of irritation, or impatience, which starts to seriously get on Peggy’s nerves.

He has to have some buttons she could push to make him react!

Ignoring, or maybe not even noticing the others taking back their seats, Rogers holds her gaze without responding to her rejection. He’s not pushing her either, just stands unmoved. She realizes he’s waiting for her to make the first move, to walk away and with that confirm the force of the effect he has on her.

Peggy has no intention of giving him that.

She straightens her back and titls her chin up, throwing him a challenging look. Deliberately, she lifts the white tea cup to her lips with the intention of finishing her drink as if nothing in the world could move her from the spot.

He smirks at that, his eyes brightening with mischievous flickers.

Peggy’s triumphant smile as Rogers moves doesn’t fully bloom when, instead of walking away, he leans towards her. His arm brushes against her waist as he sets his empty cup back on the table.

His scent engulfs her in a pleasant haze and his warmth tempts her to nuzzle into his neck. Which she, thankfully, doesn’t.

When he pulls back, his cheek abrades against hers. His bristle grazes Peggy’s skin, evoking a cascade of electrical sparks spreading to the very tips of her fingers.

“On va voir,” Rogers’ soft voice hits straight to Peggy’s core, adding to the dripping mess.

As she watches him stride back to the conference table, Peggy realizes she hasn’t got enough pairs of shoes to throw at his head.

She also decides that she won’t, under any circumstances, fuck Steve Rogers.


	2. Chapter 2

Most people enjoy free days.

Peggy Carter enjoys them too, but not at this particular moment.

Her Sundays usually involve a solid doze of pointless laziness and lack any guilt over eating a box of chocolates while soaking in the bathtub.

Now, however, the threat of her company being incorporated into PBB is enough to make her restless. Not to mention that the long hours of solitude are a perfectly fertile ground for thoughts she tried to fight off the whole weekend.

Suddenly she can't look around her spacious apartment without her imagination heating up over each surface.

Tiring herself out at the gym on Saturday, mercilessly pounding the punching bag, gave Peggy a sense of primal satisfaction and contentment. It eased the tension in her muscles, as well decreased the level of suppressed fear and anger.

Fear of losing her family's legacy, anger over slipping control.

Control has always been a necessity for Peggy, valued as a priceless possession which she never liked to share. Having an overly controlling mother, who obsessively monitored her every step, Peggy lunged for the control as soon as it was legally possible.

Not that it was easy. Her mother's money and influences turned Peggy's first years of so called freedom into hell.

Therefore she never gives up the control, neither in business, nor in the bedroom. Even if her partners are topping she picks the ones easy to predict and direct. That's why it felt like losing her ground when the inapproprate encounter on Friday switched on all the inner alarms.

The way her body quickly and willingly followed Rogers' direction annoyed Peggy more than anything else about that confrontation.

Unfortunately, the workout on Saturday also induced endorphines which, combined with an acute doze of adrenaline, increased the other craving. One still too fresh to erase the details from her memory.

Trying to concentrate on other things turned out nearly impossible. Her focus on a book got easily distracted with intrusive fantasies of bitten fingers slipping into her mouth to which her body reacted eagerly, throbbing in places that eating even a whole box of ice cream couldn’t cool down.

So, like with most things in Peggy’s life, she took the matter in her own hands. Literally. With a little help from her favourite, purple toy.

The physical demand she expected to sate rather quickly appeared to be more than a simple arousal that would vanish after a decent orgasm.

The harder she pushed the more she wanted. Instead of satisfying the hunger, she made it worse, losing control over the images haunting her mind, spurring her on.

Ones of Rogers’ bearded face.

Peggy’s mad at herself for aggravatng her own state. Her brain wouldn't be overwhelmed with the images of his face, if she hadn’t looked into him - all for the sole purpose of learning more about the enemy, she told herself.

Most of the pictures she’s found online present him in a serious light, bearing a somewhat sad, reserved demeanor. Lacking any hint of a cocky smirk, though that’s exactly what she expected to find.

A few ones, candids taken at some private events and leaked to the press, she disbelieved were of him - relaxed, with a wide grin and mussed up hair.

Natasha’s suggestion to scratch the galling itch and enjoy the weekend in the company of someone who Peggy liked, or even better, who she liked to fuck, was indeed a good plan. Unfortunately, Gabe was out of town for Lord knows what risky mission, which left Peggy alone.

Alone with her frustration and Rogers’ mouth and fingers taunting her whenever she closed her eyes and touched herself.

“Wanker,” she mutters under her breath, because of course he has to come to her mind even now, when she’s comfortably seated at one of the best tables at Maximoff’s.

Balkan cuisine and a passionate vibe wrapped in a rustic style where the mostly European staff helps Peggy feed the occasional feeling of longing for London.

A chunk of a conversation exchanged between two waiters, as they pass by her table on their way to the private, exclusive-customers-only terrace upstairs, flares a small spark in her belly.

Peggy speaks French, among four other languages. She never found the appeal in it as much as many people do, but the memory of Rogers’ voice melting into her ear does something to her body.

She chooses to drown that spark in a copious glass of wine.

“I’m not going to match your tempo, Carter,” Maria quirks a brow at her, taking the smallest sip of her pomegranate Martini. “I spent four days eating salads, because feeding financial sharks rabbit food is apparently trendy now. Then I took an eight-hours flight and changed my heels to higher ones to join you for dinner. For which, by the way, you’re paying.”

“You could’ve said no,” Peggy points out, but she feels a lot of compassion for the torture Maria went through. Peggy wouldn’t survive without meat for longer than two days.

Maria ends the exchange in unnecessary pleasantries with a short nod, "I could."

Then she leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, eyeing Peggy suspiciously, “So... Is the merger such a clusterfuck, or has something else cut your spitfire engine?”

For as long as they’ve known each other Margaret Carter rarely shown any sign of physical, or emotional exhaustion. The only time Maria has witnessed it was the catastrophic week on Bali, when both Peggy and Pepper retched nearly their entire existences.

Other than being beaten by a terrible stomach bug, Carter never faltered, under any circumstances.

The deeply rooted tendency to conceal uncomfortable, distressing emotions has Peggy merely shrugging even now, though the situation is definitely far from the way she envisioned it months ago. She expected the negotiations to go smoothly, but her confidence in Carters' resources and her own assets reeled upon facing the harsh reality.

“The merger is a pain in the ass, but it’s nothing Natasha can’t resolve,” Peggy says dismissively. Which isn’t the whole truth, because Romanoff has already told her they’ll have to give in to some demands. More than Peggy wanted to.

With a sigh Maria sets her glass back on the table and traces the rim with her fingertip. She knows and partly understands Peggy's reluctance toward a compromise, especially one that forces her to let someone else dictate majority of the rules.

But the brutal reality is that the Carters have no other choice.

“You have to agree to the merger, Peggy,” she says, her tone taking on a hint of a stern, no-nonsense approach which Hill usually reserves for her business associates. “The Carters’ empire is a skeleton now. Without this solution it will turn into dust within the next year and get taken over anyway. Your pride won't feed thousands of your employees.”

“I bloody well know that!” Peggy spats, the sudden rip in her calm composure proving how out of control she feels.

Averting her gaze from Maria’s surprised face, she reaches for the wine and fills the glass nearly to the brim. _Screw savoir vivre_. Peggy gulps down one thrid of the wine before speaking again.

“The merger may be needed,” she lifts her chin defiantly, for a second seeing someone else in Maria’s seat, “but it won’t be fully on their terms and demands.”

Maria keeps to herself the inkling that Peggy means something more than the merger. Business, even when hitting close to home as in this case, is something Margaret Carter treats with cold calculation. However, if someone personally gets under her skin, she tends to act somewhat recklessly.

Maria's work has taught her that not asking questions can bring more answers, especially when the participant is as worked up as Peggy is now. So she bites from a different angle.

“From what I know, PBB’s CEOs share some of your values and perspectives,” Hill’s statement makes Peggy snort, another little proof of Carter's hidden triggers. “I’ve met them in Washington last year. Some big charity gala they're regular benefactors to. They’re not completely stupid, nor obnoxious.”

“Yeah, Natasha is riding that quality with relish,” Peggy smiles slyly, leaning back in her chair.

At Maria’s _Do tell_  face she explains, “She and Barnes used to fuck. And apparently will be back at it as soon as we close the deal.”

Peggy didn’t inquire how, or when have they started this- whatever it is. Natasha has worked for other companies before, including RedRoom Ltd. which she later smacked down on Carters’ behalf. And the world, while wide, is actually tiny when it comes to the big, international companies. They could've met years ago.

The truth is, Peggy probably attended more galas where Barnes and Rogers were present than she knows.

“Barnes, hmm,” Maria muses, lifting her drink to her lips. “Interesting.”

“Not really,” Peggy huffs. Thinking about her friend’s successful, rowdy sex life isn’t amusing when her own frustration has only sex toy to count on for adventures.

Maria refrains from clarifying she meant a different part of that equation interesting when Peggy suddenly shifts in her chair and leans to the side, eyeing someone behind Maria’s back.

“Sif?” hearing a familiar name has Hill turning in the appointed direction.

Descending the stairs from the private terrace is none other than Sif Sparrow, Peggy’s former personal protection. Her usual combat boots replaced with heavy stilettos, but the rest of her outfit is still in the same sharp, simple style only a former special forces soldier could execute as if it’s an uniform not a tailor made two-piece suit.

Upon hearing her name Sif stops momentarily, searching the perimeter. She straightens in surprise, seeing two familiar faces grinning at her. Then, in a blink of an eye, she beams up.

Her stride, as she walks toward them, reflects a dangerous prowl that always makes people instinctively move from her path.

“Carter and Hill,” Sif leans down to briefly hug each of them, then casts a quick glance around, “without security. Why am I not surprised?” She sighs and shakes her head in mild exasperation.

“You know her,” Maria tuts, pointing at Peggy, “No one can tame Carter. You were the only one and you flew across the ocean.”

“Since you left, my security’s limping,” Peggy agrees, “Barton’s a good man, though. He respects distance. Maybe a little too much.”

She has been struggling with a few candidates who quickly gave up, unable to deal with Peggy's lack of self-preservation instinct and proneness to escaping. Then Carters' CSO introduced her to Barton.

He's got an impressive skill of always appearing when needed while being nearly invisible the rest of the time. She started suspecting he sneaks through vents and sits on rooftops.

"Clint Barton?" not waiting for a direct invitation, Sif pulls herself a chair and joins them at the table. "You don't need him right beside you for him to be effective. Guy's a hell of a marksman."

"Stil, I wouldn't mind having you back," Peggy lifts her glass and tilts it toward Sif, "Speaking of which, when did you get back?"

Nearly two years ago Sif resigned from work as Peggy's personal security to follow her girlfriend, Jane, to some Scandinavian country. From what Peggy knows she landed a solid job with a pharmaceutical company, easy and well paid. They haven't kept in touch, but somehow Peggy assumed Sif would contact her if she ever got back.

"Stark Industries got interested in Jane's research and they're founding a three year contract for her here, in New York," Sif smiles brightly, tucking a strand of her now short hair behind her ear. The stoic mask she effortlessly wears to work always cracks when she speaks about her girlfriend.

"And I got hired by a huge company," she adds with an unmasked pride. "They reached out to me before we even got back to the States."

Though being proud and sure of her skills, certain she'd find a good job, Sif never expected a gigantic company to reach out to her with a seriously prestigous proposition.

"I'm a CSO now. Big deal! We're here celebrating, actually," she motions toward the stairs leading to the vip terrace.

"So who scooped you up from the market?" knowing every small detail about most of the influential companies' state is part of the reason why Maria Hill is best at her job. The mere change in main personel can affect the value of a company and drastically shift its impact on the market.

Someone new becoming a CFO, CMO, or even a CSO is a huge deal, about which Maria would usually know beforehand.

Unless the firm isn't that important. Or is really powerful and aggressive, cautious about leaking information and heavily guarding their moves.

Peggy's relaxed demeanor cracks and her hand clenches on the wine glass, nearly shattering it at Sif's short answer -

"PBB."

Maria's snort combined with Peggy's hiss, _Son of a bitch_ , confuse Sif. With raised brows she watches Carter taking a few solid gulps of her wine, all the while ignoring Maria's pointed look.

"I've heard about the merger," Sif admits with a note of compassion, observing Peggy's face. A picture of a barely contained rage.

Sif knows how much Carters' company means to Peggy, but she also remembers her as the most composed person who merely blinked an eye when her own brother threw disgusting epithets (and a vase) at her.

Enjoying the clear now conclusion, which a few minutes ago she wasn't sure of, Maria hides her smirk behind the nearly empty glass of Martini.

As she thought, personal.

"Oh, I think the merger isn't the problem here," the scowl on Peggy's face in response to Maria's words only confirms the suspicion. "It's more personal. Isn't it, Carter? Given that you so freely talked about Barnes and Romanoff, but not once even said the name-"

"Fuck you," Peggy sneers, hating the heat hitting her cheeks, undoubtedly betraying her completely.

"Yes, I'm sure it's exactly about fucking," Maria nods. "Or lack thereof."

Turning her head to the side, Peggy grits her teeth and focuses her gaze on the flickering white lights adorning the wall of green in the small garden outside. Mustering what's left of her composure, but mostly all her stubborness, she deliberately ignores her companions.

Maria's a friend and Sif, though they haven't seen each other for a while, is someone Peggy trusts, but she doesn't feel like letting anoyone get a kick out of the misery her own hormones put her in.

"Steve," Sif saying that name irritates Peggy and she's ready to lash a few harsh words of her opinion on Rogers.

The moment she turns her head, however, her eyes land on another body and she realizes the name wasn't aimed to mock her. It wasn't even directed at her.

But at him.

Rogers stands there, right beside their table. Tall and handsome and annoyingly comfortable, as if he belongs in their space.

He's dressed in a light-blue pinstripe suit that would make anyone look ridiculous. It looks good on him. And she hates it.

"Ladies," Steve's voice is smooth, reminding Peggy of their barely three-sentences conversation on Friday. A spark of excited recognition instantly warms up her body, better than a whole glass of wine did.

Awaiting to see the cocky smirk in the corners of his mouth, she's once again surprised not finding it. Rogers is smiling politely, not even looking at her directly at first. He exchanges pleasantries with Maria, sincere and short, without any flamboyant games which Maria hates.

Then he glances at Peggy and nods courtly before shifting his attention and addressing Sif with a somewhat amused glint, "Jane is convinced you're harassing the cook, so I offered to mediate if needed."

"That was one time," Sif huffs and rolls her eyes, a shade of embarrassement clear on her face.

A soft chuckle escapes Rogers' lips and Peggy finds herself liking the warm, carefree sound of it. Her body likes it very much, too.

As if sensing her attention, Steve looks at her, catching her gaze. He's focused on her face, without any visible difficulty avoiding her impressive cleavage. It's astonishing how quickly his levity thickens into feral focus, eyes darkening with a dangerous gleam which Peggy's memory recaptured with hunger. Then his gaze slides lower, settling on Peggy's hand that holds the wine glass. His mouth curves slightly, clearly pleased with the little show she wasn't aware of running.

It's then that she realizes her own fingers are playing with the glass - fingertips brushing along the rim then sliding down the stem, absentmindedly rubbing it up and down, up and down.

The urge to stop it in an instant isn't as strong as Peggy's determination to push on Roger's buttons instead. Deliberately continuing her ministrations, she holds his gaze. The twitch in his jaw and disappearance of his smirk as he parts his lips in an inaudible groan evoke a sense of a triumphant satisfaction in Peggy.

Maria's not so subtle cough breaks the moment, though Peggy's not sure if she's thankful for it, or annoyed she didn't get to play some more.

With a nonchalant shrug she looks to the side and brings the glass to her lips. She feels Rogers staring at her still, but refuses to indulge. After a moment he shifts back.

In her peripheral vision she notices him rubbing his hand over his mouth which draws her attention to his pink lips, revoking the desire to taste and bite them. When he runs his fingers through his hair Peggy grips the glass in her hand a little tighter. A mental image of her own fingers tugging on the soft strands threatens to ruin her composure.

"I guess we should get back," Sif stiffles a chuckle, sharing a knowing look with Maria.

She catches Peggy's gaze while standing up and smiles, "It was really good to see you. We really need to meet and catch up."

"Maybe you'd like to join us?" Roger's unexpected proposition nearly makes Peggy choke on her drink. Again.


	3. Chapter 3

In that moment Peggy is thankful for being at Maximoff's without Natasha. While Maria won't let go of the topic so easily, probably tormenting Peggy with it for the next few weeks, she's not one to be meddling. Much...

Which can't be said about Natasha who, Peggy has no doubt, would drag her upstairs herself.

But Romanoff's not here and Peggy can pretend her mind isn't sizzling with excitement upon all the new fantasies to torment herself with back at home.

Everyone's looking at her expectantly, gauging her reaction. Peggy has no intention of feeding Maria's amusement, nor letting Rogers continue this wicked game. As much as her body wants to clash with his, her persistence provides her brain with the last remaining scraps of reason. She will not give in. And she can catch up with Sif and Jane some other time, without cheeky, bearded distractions.

"Thank you," she replies calmly, somehow managing to contain the burst of panic, "but we were about to leave anyway."

She stays perfectly still under Rogers' piercing gaze. He knows she's bluffing, undoubtedly making the escape in order to avoid the challenge she feels too tempted to indulge in. However, he makes no move to change her mind, doesn't try pressure or manipulation covered in politeness and charm.

"Our loss, then," soft crinkles appear in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. "Till next time Miss Carter," he curtly bows and Peggy can't stop the amused snort from slipping in a very unladylike manner.

Any guilt she might have felt for it dissipates the moment Steve grins at her.

He says goodbye to Maria as well then leads Sif to the stairs and waits for her to reach the terrace before heading in the opposite direction without even glancing their way.

Peggy finds herself following his silhouette with her eyes, admiring the slow, but confident stride until he disappears somewhere around the corner.

She maintains unmoved, sipping on her wine and browsing the desserts menu, when Rogers appears again a few minutes later. He doesn't even spare them a second glance as he hops up the stairs, taking two at a time - a movement that does wonders to the roundness of his ass, which Peggy doesn't hesitate to eye appreciatively.

She has no intention of fucking him, she reminds herself, but it doesn't mean she can't entertain herself imagining her fingernails needling into that scuplted muscle.

"I doubt this menu provides with the bite you want to take," Maria states with a pointed tilt of her head.

She settles the empty now glass on the table, pondering over ordering another round. It seems a good idea if she's about to deal with Carter's suddenly asserted celibacy.

"Mhm, for sure," Peggy nods absentmindedly and closes the menu. "Besides, I really think it's best to call it a night. We both have to work tomorrow and you get up even earlier than I do."

Despite dragging her ass out of bed at six in the morning each day, Peggy still remains a very not-morning person who becomes approachable only after Barton greets her with a second cup of tea. Black as a night and tart with lemon.

When the waiter appears with a polite smile, offering another bottle of wine, Peggy declines and asks for the check. Only to be stunned into silence learning someone has covered it and anything additional they might order.

Peggy glances at Maria, suspecting her friend is responsible.

"No," Hill shakes her head, "I told you the dinner is on you."

Peggy could pretend to wonder who is behind the gesture, but it's rather obvious. And she bristles.

The waiter quickly retreats, serving them one more smile as he goes. Maria sighs. Now she really could use another glass of Martini, or a solid shot of something stronger, because Carter looks like she's about to burst.

Maria knows it's not the actual murderous desire, Peggy is not calm enough for it to be. With the flush spreading on her face and breasts nearly spilling out of her dress from the heavy breathing, Peggy presents the look of a woman who is pissed, but also wants to slam a person against a wall and devour them raw.

Oh, it would definitely hurt. Possibly leave a lot of marks on Rogers, too, but he would live. With a blissfully fucked out brain.

"What an arrogant dick," Peggy hisses, clenching her fists. Her pride took the biggest hit. Carters' empire might be a shattered giant at the moment, facing inevitable merger, but she's not broke yet. And she's definitely not taking any money from that American buffoon!

Unimpressed with Carter's seething, Maria opens her clutch and retrieves a pocket mirror. She reapplies her lipstick before calmly chiming in, "I'm not one to be making excuses for a man, so I'm just going to point out that he's not standing here waiting for you to praise him. Sure, he probably still hopes to fuck you senseless, but he's not stupid enough to think buying you a dinner would open your legs."

Rogers has many flaws. He's stubborn as a mule from what she's heard. And hot headed. Though mostly maintaining a calm, withdrawn composure, there's something bubbling beneath it, ready to charge.

The rumor has it he punched Sousa, a young senator to be, during an official event. Which Maria still regrets not attending.

He's also said to be a nostalgic sap, though his publicist veils it with fancy words like _vintage connoisseur_ , or _old soul_  bullshit. Admittedly, he could probably shine as a star in old Hollywood, especially with his James Dean mixed with Brando vibe going on. There's a small suspicion following, if Rogers maybe has a violence problem.

Then again, depending on how one views it, Peggy could also be described as such.

Maria's aware how delighted Peggy would be in punching her way out of many things. Out of merger, most certainly.

"So you say he's being polite?" Carter's tone is nearly a bark, her teeth bared. Maria refrains from asking into which part of Rogers she wants to sink her teeth.

Hill doesn't know Barnes or Rogers that well, but she knows enough to snort, "As polite as you, I'd say."

Her reply earns her another glare. Unmoved, she slides the mirror back into her clutch and closes it.

"So," Maria asks in a rather bored tone, "are we heading out in an indifferent American way, or are you going to put your British stick up your bouncy ass and go thank him first?"

In that moment Peggy would love nothing more than to just leave, go home and get rid of all the thoughts of Steve Rogers. But she's a Carter and she never backed out from a challenge. Slipping away would give him the impression he won this round of whatever it is that they're playing.

Peggy's grandmother would be so disappointed - both in Peggy's lack of manners and yielding. To a Yank!

She shots Maria one more glare, mostly to prevent her friend from grinning knowingly when she slowly stands up.

She ascends the stairs in a steady, unrushed pace, giving herself a bit more time to fully muster all her cold, posh manner. Forcing a light smile on her face, Peggy walks onto the terrace.

The sight is once again not what she expected. Instead of a flamboyant, huge gathering an American gigantic company could throw, it's only four of them. Reasonably thinking, if they threw that kind of party, they'd book a ballroom. It's hard for Peggy, though she won't admit it to anyone, to lose some of her prejudiced expectations. Especially when she happily blames PBB for all the calamities.

Sif and Jane are sitting on one side of the wooden table, their backs to the brick wall, because Sif needs to see all the exits at all times. Barnes and Rogers have their backs to the entrance, so neither spots Peggy immediately. They all look relaxed, reminding of a group of friends meeting for beer than employers officially greeting their newest, lethal catch.

Barnes says something and they all burst out laughing. Peggy sees with her own eyes how Rogers' usual armor of composure cracks. He laughs, a sound so warm and deep it makes Peggy's heart thump a little faster. He shakes his head and puts a hand on Barnes' shoulder.

It's Sif who notices Peggy and arches a questioning brow, the others soon follow her gaze.

When Rogers turns Peggy expects to see a pleased smirk, a flash of triumph, giving her a reason to beat him with a shoe. But he looks genuinely surprised by her presence. For a split of a moment her appearance seems to catch him off guard so much that a flash of awkward embarrassement stains his cheeks with pink. Then he suddenly beams up at her.

A goofy, boyish grin that momentarily fucks the whole image of him she had built in her head.

Something so simple, nearly innocent strips the thick, seductive layers, revealing a likeable man underneath a veneer of a shark wanting to sink its teeth into her. Someone she would allow herself to like a little bit more.

Straightening her back, Peggy reminds herself to be indifferent to the luring charm. Not that she'd ever think of herself as a pray, but it's better not to fall for the predator's temptation. Especially given her body's eagerness to do so.

Even now, as Steve jumps to his feet less than gracefully, knocking the table with his knee, Peggy can't stop her eyes from roaming appreciatively over his form. Big, impressive form which fits better by the massive conference table than a rustic, small one.

If he were to splay her on that table and fuck her, they would undoubtedly break it.

But Peggy's not here for that, even if the sultry image will be the one directing the rhythm of her fingers tonight.

"Are you joining us?" Steve asks in a surprisingly hopeful tone, though his eyes twinkle with darker, more devious sparks.

Peggy shakes her head, quite pleased with how the flicker in his eyes fades out immediately. The little controlling harpy underneath her skin likes the thin string of dominance she just regained. Having her own body betray her so easily earlier, reacting to Rogers' previous moves, it's damn satisfying to see him affected by her.

"I came to thank you for the dinner," she keeps her voice crisp, a touch of frost that prickles skin in a pleasant way. "An unnecessary gesture," she lifts her chin defiantly, "which I plan to repay by sending you a basket of cookies after we bring PBB down from its high horse."

Challenging words that would annoy most of her former opponents seem to work Rogers up. A result Peggy has not anticipated.

His lips curve slightly, eyes darkening as he replies in a tone of pure sin, "I'd take your cookies any time."

Behind him Barnes snorts loudly, nearly choking on the drink behind which he tried to hide his amusement.

Peggy rolls her eyes. She's not going to rise to the bait and continue this ridiculous exchange.

"Goodnight, Mr Rogers," she shakes her head at his unfaltering smirk. Pivoting on her heel she walks away, keeping her back straight and her head high as the burning sensation of eyes glued to her doesn't relent.

She quails when soft fabric unexpectedly brushes against her naked arm as she descends. Rogers' unforeseen presence nearly causes Peggy to fall down the stairs, but she grips the railing with one hand and steadies herself. The sudden move, however, trips Peggy's balance and she makes a wrong step which results in her shoe slipping off and falling down the steps.

But Peggy's more absorbed with the fact Rogers came up to her so soundlessly than with the lost shoe.

She opens her mouth to hiss at him in annoyance, but Rogers abruptly moves, leaving her even more confused. Peggy watches him quickly run down the stairs then bend over to pick up the black pump.

"What the hell are you doing?" she blurts out finally when he walks back up to her.

Steve looks at her oddly and points at the shoe in his hand. Peggy yanks it from his grip before something stupid, like kneeling down to slip the shoe on her foot, comes to his mind.

She leans forward a bit and lifts her leg, bending her knee to put the shoe back on. The movement causes the cut in her dress to deepen, parting the soft, burgundy fabric wider. Revealing the lacy trim on the silk stocking covering her creamy, thick thigh.

Steve unabashedly stares at the thin black stripe of the garter belt bouncing a little as Peggy works the shoe on. His fingers itch to touch the soft skin and snap the strap against it. He'd watch the creamy skin pinken then bite into it and caress it with wet kisses.

If they only booked the whole place for the evening, he could bend Carter over the railing and bury his face, then his cock, between her thighs.

But there are people here and she probably would draw the line at that. Though, maybe if he sneaks them into the bathroom-

He shakes his head, clearing it before his imagination gets out of control and he really has to go to the bathroom. Alone.

Steve's not blind, nor stupid, he knows Carter's affected as much as he is. But she's also proud and stubborn, two traits apparently much stronger now than the arousal.

If Steve was reasonable, he wouldn't start anything with the merger going on and his general reluctance toward mixing work with pleasure. But he wants Margaret Carter like nothing else ever before.

It's possible she won't ever let him kiss her even, but he's happy to drive himself crazy imagining it. And relentlessly try to provoke her to make a move.

He's quite sure she considered beating him with that shoe for somehow getting past her hard armor. And he honestly feels so smug about it, can't help it.

Of course Peggy notices his burning gaze lingering on her thigh even as she straightens and fixes her dress. A satisfied gleam lights Rogers' face when he slowly drags his eyes upward to meet her gaze.

He stands so close and Peggy finds herself involuntarily leaning in. From this close his chest seems even broader. Peggy clenches her hands into fists to stop herself from reaching out and touching. Steve's fingers, she notices, are twitching as if tempted to grab. A fistful of her hair, or the fabric of her dress, or her ass - Peggy's imagination bursts with colorful possibilities.

Her phone vibrating in her purse, announcing an incoming message, pulls her out of the haze.

It's from Maria: _Took a cab. Don't choke on your dessert..._

Peggy curses, cramming the phone back into her purse and shutting it with an unmasked viciousness. When she looks up Rogers is standing a bit further than before. He moved as if to give her space. Or maybe he's afraid she's going to punch him.

As tempting as it is, she takes a calming breath and renews her ask in a more composed tone, "What are you doing Rogers?"

"Walking you to... your car?" he grins sheepishly, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "A cab? You need a ride?"

She swears he purposely makes the _ride_  sound all kinds of filthy.

It's all his doing, not her own subconscious cravings. Not at all.

"You have some transportation kink?" Peggy surprises herself with how unimpressed she sounds, though a rush of blood surges through her at the prospect of bodies pressed close in a confined space, fabric hastily pushed aside and delicious abrasions blooming on thighs.

Rogers only smiles slyly at that and without hesitation follows her when she walks down. Peggy foolishly hopes lack of interest will throw him off, but he either doesn't get a hint, or just doesn't give a damn about it. And she didn't actually voice her objection to his company either.

The air outside is mildly chilly, causing Peggy's wine-warmed skin to cover in tiny goosebumps. She likes the sudden, fresh jolt it brings, tingling in her fingertips and on her lips. She wets them with her tongue, unaware of Rogers intently following the quick swipe with his eyes.

Her lips have been haunting him for days now. The rich red which he pictures smeared in a very improper manner. The perfect curve and fullness that he wants to explore.

It takes a lot of self restrain to shove his hands deeper into his pockets and refrain from pressing her against the brick wall.

That would earn him a slap and Steve's not into it. Not exactly, not on that body part at least.

He considers being forthright. Carter seems to be a woman who doesn't do well with beating around the bush, so she might appreciate a blunt forwardness. But he cringes inwardly at the shitty setting he weaved himself into - paying for her dinner as if expecting something in return.

Damn, he just wanted to be nice, but now it looks like he's _that nice guy_. The one who expects attention for being a decent human being.

Steve, while being a snarky asshole quite often, thinks of himself as rather honorable and polite. He definitely considers himself intelligent enough to know how thin is the ice he's walking on right now.

One bad move and Carter will behead him, not bed him.

"A cab?" he asks softly, tilting his head toward the right corner of the street where the cab stand is located.

Peggy looks at him and nods. The silence between them, as they walk side by side toward the corner of the street, doesn't seem to bother Rogers. He makes no attempt at flirting with her, or charming his way into her good graces.

Glancing at him every few seconds, Peggy realizes he really enjoys the somewhat awkward silence, or maybe he's so enthralled with the early autumn evening in New York. She also notices that the flickers of light bring out lighter gold streaks in his rather dark hair. She can't help but look for similar threads in his beard.

A hint of pink blooms on his cheekbones, right above the soft line of neatly trimmed stubble. It makes Peggy wonder if it's the evening's doing, or a glimpse of boyish innocence which surprised her earlier today.

When they reach the cab she finds herself not relieved. A part of her itches to jump into the car and avoid seeing Rogers for weeks, but there's also a very content part enjoying his stoic warmth beside her.

Steve aligns his body so they stand face to face, their hands resting on the top of the cab.

He looks at her hand, so small compared to his. Her slender fingers are spread, red nail polish so vibrant against the yellow paint.

Peggy's eyes widen when Rogers slides his finger between her index and middle one. It's merely a brush. A tickling, soft sensation as he traces the inner side of her digits.

The innocence of that touch disperses momentarily when he slides deeper between her fingers, teasing the sensitive juncture between them.

It's erotic.

A little sample that already has her knees bucking and her underwear dampen.

Steve holds her gaze, relishing in the way her lips part to release the tiniest of whimpers as he rubs his fingertip along the valley between her knuckles.

He's tempted to slip his free hand underneath her dress and find out if she's wet like he thinks she is.

Carter doesn't stay passive for long. She slowly traces her upper lip with her tongue, lets it linger in the corner of her mouth, flicking back and forth. Then wets her bottom lip before sinking her teeth in it, sucking it a little in and releasing with a wet pop.

Steve's growl is audible and its sound pleases Peggy immensely.

She withdraws her hand, trying to cover the displeasure of losing the sensual contact with a frown. Instead of being equally dismayed, Rogers appears to be even more pleased than seconds before.

"You look like a cat that got all the cream," Peggy glowers at him, miffed that the asshole doesn't seem to be even half as frustrated as she is.

"You said we _shouldn't_   fuck," he grins at her, confusing her even more.

Annoyed, she yanks the car door open. She glares at Rogers, somewhat disappointed that he gracefully moved away in time, avoiding getting hit with the door. "And I still stand by it. We shouldn't."

Mischievous twinkles lighten his irises and his lips curl in a devilish smirk. Once again he slides his hands into pockets and slowly retreating, laughs -

"You didn't say we won't..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with this chapter we're switching the rating to Explicit

Watching a bully bloat from frustration like a balloon, their face becoming as red as the squeaky latex, is one of Steve's favourite pastimes.

Especially rewarding if he's the reason for their annoyance.

He never liked bullies. Becoming one of the most influential businessmen didn't change that. Quite the contrary, it confirmed the terrifying number of bullies among the corporate world - from executives to the lower level personel. Their often used reasoning that the hard approach is needed to survive in a tank full of sharks is a shitty excuse to justify oppressing others.

Steve knows first hand what it takes to build own reputation and maintain position in a treacherous environment. He's demanding, expects dedication and near perfection. But he never terrorized anyone for pure gain or satisfaction.

However tempting it would be to use fear against said bullies, he prefers being a sneaky asshole.

Threats rarely work on these people, but tipping their cozy high stool of superiority has a surprisingly strong effect. The desperation with which they grasp for scraps to maintain the over-blown ego in ballance and their faces coloring in all shades of red as the frustration strains them, brings him a hint of satisfaction.

In all honesty, Steve prefers punching things.

He grew up with more bruises than most of boxers. Which nearly gave his mom and Bucky ulcers. For the sake of Bucky and their company's image Steve tries hard to refrain from punching people nowadays.

Admittedly, it doesn't always work. Sometimes the instinct to throw a fist is stronger than that of proper behavior and solving conflicts in a mature way.

Steve wanted to punch Rumlow on a couple occasions, but getting into fisticuffs with the head of own company's security would be a PR nightmare. Not to mention its impact on the general morale.

He assumed Rumlow won't be thrilled with the changes they made in the security department, secretly hoping that steroid-packed worm writhes under Sif's shoe. Seeing him seething with childish anger brings a sense of vicious delight.

Steve remains unmoved when Rumlow stalks out of his office, slamming the door so hard the frosted glass threatens to shatter. If that happened, he'd gladly cut the cost from Rumlow's last paycheck. He won't deny the former mercenary is good at his job, but not only is Sif better, she's also devoid of hunger for power and shows no psychopathic tendencies. Which were brought to Steve's attention a couple of times regarding Rumlow.

The resignation threat made little no impression on Steve. He merely arched a brow at Rumlow and shrugged his shoulders.

Okay, so a comment about a fragile ego and shrinking dick might have come out of Steve's mouth, causing Rumlow to fume and clench his fists, but at least Steve stopped himself from an actual fight. For which Bucky would probably kill him in exasperation. And for which Steve wouldn't feel any remorse.

Damn, he really wanted to punch Rumlow.

Having that opportunity taken away, he settles on enjoying the overall gain. He's more than sure Sif is going to make their security level even better than it already is.

Though she might clash with Bucky's personal bodyguard, Jessica, who doesn't do well with anyone's bullshit (especially Bucky's). Then again, it's possible Sif and Jessica will get along tremendously well, meaning trouble for Bucky.

Also meaning Steve will get to kick his friend's ass on the mat, because a whiny Bucky is a distracted opponent - so much easier to take down.

Steve drums his fingers along the polished oak desk. His knuckles lack bruises, calloused fingers wiggle without a hint of pain and he feels a pang of sadness over the absence of any weariness in his hands.

He could at least arrange a meeting with a punching bag. Break a sweat until it soaks his T-shirt and his knuckles scream in protest. He's been avoiding that lately in a helpless hope to engage his hands in an equally straining, but far more pleasant activity.

He wants his palms tingling with sensation when he touches a woman's skin, not numbing in pain when she clenches on his fingers while coming.

"Get a fucking grip, Rogers," Steve groans, closing his eyes and rubbing one of his hands over his face.

Celibacy never been much of a problem. The years of having nothing beside his own hand to bring some relief to the raging hormones when he was a teenage weakling taught him a lot of self-restraint. Since he grew and filled out in his early twenties he gained some new experiences. Got even used to the ease with which he now finds company to sate the hunger. Still, having to go weeks without sex isn't that hard.

At least it wasn't until his eyes found Margaret Carter's gaze across the conference table.

He shouldn't be even considering flirting with her while the merger is under construction, much less relentlessly pushing for more. But he's always been reckless.

Lack of self-preservation might also be the case. He has no doubt Carter could chew him out and leave his corpse rotting on display as a warning for any future admirers.

And damn if Steve doesn't find it a great turn on.

Bucky would glare pointedly at him. Like he always did after dragging Steve out of alley fights when they were kids. Disapproval combined with fear. _Damn it, punk. It's like you have an unhealthy taste for adrenaline. Try fucking bungee jumping_.

Steve did try that.

Still he prefers punching.

And very much prefers daydreaming about Carter's thighs, shuddering at the memory of the garters pressing into her milky skin.

With an annoyed gruff Steve reaches for his cold now coffee and gulps it down without cringing. He needs more. More coffee. And more punching. But with Bucky in Hawaii on a business trip - if a week on a sunny island with Stark could ever be considered working - Steve's left to mind the business, deprived of time to hit the gym. Mostly he has to make sure no one sniffs out their newest project.

Steve's good at that, at noticing oncoming threats and changes.

Fuck, he's the one who set his eyes on Carters empire months before the word about the company's status going to shit, due to years of Michael's bad choices, has spread.

He won't pretend to be surprised that the eldest son was picked to lead the family business despite lacking skill and heart. It's a practice as old as the world, conducted without much care for doubtful benefits of leaving the legacy in the hands of an overly ambitious, but ignorant man. Oldest, firstborn, male. Apple of daddy and mommy's eye, more interested in his own gain than long term consequences or his employees. Under his touch a fearsome British giant crumbled.

If Margaret hadn't stepped in, brilliantly salvaging as much of the damages as she could, the company would have been in PBB's hands much sooner. Swallowed whole, not even given the courtesy of negotiating a merger.

But Steve can't help admiring Carter for avoiding it for so long.

Speaking of avoidance, the thin folder on his desk gathering dust for nearly a week can't be avoided much longer, though Steve would gladly pretend it doesn't exist. There's a pull drawing him to its content, but he's afraid the outcome is going to resemble Pandora's Box. Used to facing difficulties head on, now he hesitates to poke at it. But it's the best time. Now that Bucky is in Hawaii and won't snoop around. Won't instantly recognize that look in Steve's eyes.

As Steve reaches for the file, his fingertips merely brushing the yellowish cover, a hurricane of a distraction unexpectedly grants his wish for avoidance.

With a loud slam of the door, the frosted glass quivering once again this day, and with his assistant's shriek in the background, a woman marches into Steve's office.

Margaret Carter in all her furious glory.

If looks could kill... No, if looks could switch the basic, reasonable self-preservation instinct on, then Steve wouldn't beam up at her. But his apparent death wish has him smiling at her like a fool.

He stands up and opens his mouth in an attempt to greet her, but Carter beats him to it.

"You sneaky, manipulative, honourless-" she pauses for a second to find the best offensive word to spit at him. "Dipshit!"

Steve stops mid step, his eyebrows arching in surprise. He stifles the chuckle that threatens to escape his lips at the insult, sensing it wouldn't gain him any points. Carter looks thoroughly pissed.

And amazingly perfect in her jade green dress.

"Did I do something in particular, or is that your general assessment?" Steve asks placidly, the sassy undertone irking Peggy even more.

She pulls her red lips into a thin, tight line, watching Rogers slowly round his desk as if nothing had happened. As if his company didn't just torpedo her alliance. After last Sunday, though still stubbornly refusing to reconsider his assistance in getting off, Peggy found herself having a tad warmer feelings towards Rogers. This morning, however, greeted her with news that instantly renewed her deep acrimony.

Clenching her fists, Peggy stalks over to Steve, cornering him between his desk and the floor to ceiling window. The fact he doesn't even flinch under her heated gaze makes Peggy nearly growl in annoyance. He's not smirking either, no hint of mockery flashes in his eyes.

Rogers' face is an image of calm patience that galls Peggy.

"Stark Industries withdrew their funds for the project we were supposed to colaborate on, because _they've found a grand interest in new technology quest their newest business partner offered_ ," Peggy spits the quote as if it's most distasteful.

Tony used much less eloquent words to confirm that he simply finds PBB's offer more amusing and undoubtedly more risky - two things that Tony always valued more than prudence and promises.

Peggy considered calling Howard, the one with whom she secured that project before he retired, but it wouldn't work in her favor to run and tattle.

She's Margaret Carter. A force to reckon with. She'll deal with this mess on her own, like she always has.

And pour her rage onto the guilty party.

"Funny how Stark joins your dark side now when the merger negotiations aren't going as smoothly as you wanted," she sneers at Steve and crosses her arms. "You had to go for the low blow, huh?" Like they did with SHIELD last year.

"I am an asshole, but a decent one," Rogers frowns, his voice lowering, tone edging on warning.

"Our cooperation with Stark is purely a gain on its own, not aimed to do collateral damage other than earning us a few billiards more than most companies in the next ten years."

"And it just oh so conveniently happened to deprive my company of a solid contract, making us more vulnerable and in need of a merger," Peggy's words are bitter, held in the same cold, steel-sharp tone that cuts through flesh, but her eyes glimmer with fiery emotion.

It's like a punch to Steve's gut. He finds himself staring at her in awe, not caring if he has a stupid look on his face. She's beautiful. Fucking breathtaking.

"Are you going to say anything?" Peggy hisses at him when he stays silent and dazed for a long moment. She's itching to hear him say anything that would justify the punch she'd gladly throw at his stupidly handsome face.

It's truly outragous how good it looks this close.

And he smells really nice. It pisses her off.

Rogers' gaze, so far focused solely on her eyes, drops lower. To her mouth. His irises darken as he unabashedly stares at her lips, his own mouth opening slightly, tongue darting out to wet the lower lip in a quick lick. Peggy suddenly wants to feel it slipping between her lips. Nether ones too.

"I want to kiss you," his voice is dangerously low and husky, its timbre pooling in Peggy's abdomen with liquid heat.

If fantasies of beard-grazed skin peppered with kisses weren't waking her up every morning for the past few weeks, Peggy might've been unmoved with his words. A vibrant promise making her lips tingle in anticipation.

They're standing close enough for her to almost feel the softness of his lips against hers, a hint of bitter coffee and something sweet on his breath.

The asshole dosn't move, however, making her nearly whimper in frustration.

"That's all?" Peggy frowns, hoping it comes off more like an unimpressed impatience than a reflection of frustration.

She doesn't do well with frustration. Anger or irritation she can do. They can be dealth with in so many ways, but unresolved arousal which seems to only grow instead of decreasing is a literal pain in the ass.

A little laugh escapes Rogers' mouth, his lips curving in a smirk.

"Hell no," he runs his fngers through his hair. His gaze darts to the side for a second, a somewhat sheepish expression softening his features before he looks back at her. All focused and dangerous. Peggy barely stops herself from taking a step back.

"There's also the part about wanting to bend you over my desk and lick you until you scream."

His words drip on her like melted chocolate. Rich and decadent.

Steve expects a slap.

He does not expect to be gripped by the lapels and pulled forward.

Nearly stumbling, he freezes at the demanding pressure of Peggy's lips against his. It takes a second for his hazy brain to comprehend that the powdery, a bit heavy taste in his mouth is lipstick. Slowly dissolving when the kiss turns more wet.

The initial stupor ceases when he feels her pulling away. With a growl of disapproval Steve wraps his arm tightly around Peggy's waist and turns them both around, trapping Peggy between the window and his own body. The glass is extremely hard, not even wobbling when Rogers not so gently slams her into it, but the harsh contact and height still evoke a rush of blood, covering Peggy's skin in sheen blush.

Their previous encounters showed Steve to be very restrained. Every move, every touch was fully controlled, never truly crossing the line. Feeling his knee between her legs now, Peggy realizes she gave him an opening for which he's been waiting and now he exploits it brazenly.

Steve moves his thigh further between hers, providing just the right pressure to make her gasp.

He has his left hand in her hair, securing her scull from hitting too hard on the cold glass, but also keeping her still as he devours her mouth. It's all tongue and teeth. Softness of his lips lost in the hard edge that makes Peggy's toes curl.

How long has it been since she was kissed like that?

She's sure any trace of her lipstick is gone, licked and swallowed, but her lips are just as red - swollen and nearly hurting from all the chaffing.

Fingers splayed on his broad chest, she traces the hard lines underneath the silky fabric of his shirt. He's sculplted. And big. And she never felt so excited at the prospect of having to spread her legs really wide if he went down on her.

A throaty moan bubbles on Peggy's lips when Steve angles her head to the side and kisses his way down her neck. She's sensitive there, especially if he finds that spot- _oh!_

Peggy's knees buckle, causing her to slide further down onto his thigh. Soft cotton of her underwear sticks to her slick folds and for a brief moment she wonders if he can feel her wetness through the fabric. The way he presses his leg harder into her suggests he does.

When Steve nips at her pulse she tenses. Red fingernails needle harder into his chest, scratching his abs through his suit, making him groan. Then suddenly her fingers move down.

Peggy yanks on his belt hasitly and Steve freezes, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She barely hears his muffled curse as he drops both his hands to rest on her hips.

His breath is hot and heavy against her skin, his fingers digging into her hips, undoubtedly leaving pressure marks. She's got his belt half undone when he abruptly lifts his head and looks at her with an expression of the most saddened puppy.

He looks ready to apologize and Peggy swears she will knee him, if the tries to.

"I don't have a condom," Steve admits, his cheeks flushing.

He's sure there's a whole box, if not more, in Bucky's office. He could go there and steal some without any intention of buying them back, but he's certain Carter would be long gone before he gets back. He's ready to suffer for that rare chance of just having her in his arms.

Peggy stares at him in disbelief. Her puffy lips are parted, hair disheveled. She blinks once, twice, processing what he said. What he means.

She wants to laugh at the irony and cry with frustration.

All the will she put into resisting him and now when she wants to succumb the most silly of obstacles appears. Peggy doesn't want to think it's a sign. Quite the contrary, she wants to kick the universe and get that bloody orgasm.

A small, unsteady breath she takes, undoubtedly to calm herself down, is like an awakening for Steve. Always quick to react, he makes a move before Peggy loses the spark in her eyes.

It catches her by surprise when he doesn't move away. But down...

He rolls her dress up and nudges her legs further apart. Peggy laughs softly at his tormented groan, "Fucking garters," and rests her head against the window. Steve traces the lacy trimming on her stockings with his fingers, teasing the skin right above it. His breath tickles her and lingers there for long seconds. Too long for Peggy's liking.

She's ready to huff impatiently at him, but a sudden smack on her thigh has her yelping in surprise.

Rogers just snapped her garter.

The stinging where the strap hit her skin disperses into a pleasant tingling. He snaps it again, harder. Peggy's skin reddens, biting sensation spreading all over.

Then Steve's mouth is there. Soft and wet, caressing the pink mark. His tongue swipes underneath the strap, trailing upward and making Peggy shudder.

He nuzzles into the juncture of her thigh. Brushing his nose at the line between her skin and the black cotton, he slides his fingers to tease the dampened fabric covering her. Steve kisses her through the material, slow and gentle. Catching the fabric between his teeth, he tugs on it and then releases abruptly so it snaps back against her swollen lips, causing Peggy to moan.

And then he's hoisting her leg over his shoulder, pulls her underwear aside and tastes her.

Peggy gasps, a strangled sound that is both a breathless happiness and a wild heave.

Steve's tongue is soft, his lips as well, but his bristle is just enough coarse to make her sopping as he rubs his chin against her, providing such delicious contrast of sensations.

He torments her, switching between gentle licks and harder pressure. When Peggy grabs a fistful of his hair, tugging not so gently, he looks up at her with mischief twinkling in his eyes.

He angles his head and rubs his chin against her clit, relishing in Peggy's cry.

She throws her head back, hitting the glass with a dull thud. With the orgasm rippling through her so hard she doesn't feel even a tinge of pain.

Steve is relentless, his mouth chasing each trickle, though it feels like he's making an even bigger mess. Peggy's knees weaken and his arm shots up to steady her. Freed from his grip, the fabric of her dress pools down, covering Rogers' head. She can't see his dark gaze now, but she can feel.

God, how she feels!

He fucks her with his tongue, quick and shallow. Then licks upward, his mouth closing over her clit and sucking mercilessly. And Peggy comes. Again. Harder.

Needling her fingernails into his scull, she moves her other hand to cover her mouth, biting on the inside to muffle the scream.

Steve gently licks her clean. His lips ever so tender on her swollen, dripping flesh. Peggy's not sure how much time passes before she feels him standing up. Her eyes are still closed, breath ragged.

Peggy's legs are wobbly and she's thankful for his tight grip around her hips, though she won't admit it. Rogers' fingers press into her ass, kneading and pulling her closer against him as he stretches along her. Through the buzzing in her head she can hear the faint clink of the buckle of his undone belt when he rolls his hips into her.

He's hard, she can feel him pressing into her nearly desperately, seeking any kind of friction.

Slowly, she opens her eyes. She expects to see the smug, pleased look on his face - for which she wouldn't blame him, he did really good. His cheeks are pink, lips puffy. There are glistening strings in his beard and he makes no move to wipe her slick off.

Steve Rogers looks utterly, deliciously wrecked.

Peggy rocks against him, making him hiss. He leans closer, forehead resting against hers.

"It's okay," he whispers, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles on her hips. He needs this moment of breath more for himself, actually. Her scent and taste, the feeling of her coming apart for him, _because of him_ , nearly tipped him over. It wouldn't take much now, he's a step away from embarrassing himself in front of her.

He stiffens when Carter nips on his jaw, then licks a straight line to his mouth, tasting herself on his beard and lips.

This kiss is slower, deeper. More undoing.

Sliding her hands up his chest, Peggy grips Steve's shoulders and pushes him back. It takes only three steps or so to stumble into his desk. Steve ungracefully sits down, knocking off a stack of papers, when she shoves him.

Peggy moves between his legs, dropping her hands to his belt. Kissing him still, she unbuckles it fully and lowers the zipper. Small, warm hand slips under the fabric. When her sweaty fingertips brush against his cock, Steve nearly jumps.

"You-" he mumbles against Peggy's lips, "don't- uh, don't have to-"

"Of course I don't," she nips on his bottom lip and wraps her hand around him, smiling as his breath hitches.

With her free hand she tugs his pants a little lower, so it's easier to pull his dick out. She flashes Steve a cheeky grin before dropping to her knees.

She has to press her fingernails into his thigh when he jerks the moment her lips touch his tip. Steve settles down, fingers gripping the edge of the desk so hard the wood creaks.

Peggy engulfs him slowly, sucking at the head and then withdrawing. She does it a few times, making Steve whine helplessly. She licks the underside then peppers her way back down with wet kisses. When she _finally_  takes him in her mouth Steve groans in relief, sagging onto his elbows. Her hand is tight around the base and her lips move over him in a fast rhythm. Sucking hard.

"Fuck!" Steve swears loudly, white light bursting underneath his closed eyelids. And Peggy nearly kills him when she dives deeper, her throat clenching as she swallows.

Steve feels boneless. He probably could fall asleep if he found a comfortable position on the desk. But he manages to sit up. With hazy eyes he watches Peggy gently tucking him back in. There's a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Lips that are nearly as red as if she's still wearing her lipstick.

He cups her face and traces his thumb over her bottom lip. His heart does a little flip when she kisses his fingertip.

Brushing his fingers along her blushed cheek, Steve slips his hand aroung her neck and grips her nape. And then he's kissing her again. She still tastes faintly of something sweet, but mostly of him.

Steve swallows her surprised shriek when he buries his left hand between her thighs. She's wet and the idea she got turned on sucking him off makes Steve awfully pleased.

He bites on her mouth then leaves a trail of open kisses down the column of her throat, undoubtedly leaving marks. Peggy finds herself not caring that much about them at the moment. Not when he's got three fingers inside her, pumping fast and hard.

When he curls his digits, pressing on a particularly sensitive spot, Peggy comes instantly. Hiding her face in the crook of Steve's neck to muffle her moans against his skin. If she leaves a wet spot on the collar of his shirt, it's his fault alone.

It feels harder to regain her breathing this time and Peggy gladly leans further into his embrace, pretending not to notice her own body shaking. Steve smoothes her dress down. She hopes he won't leave wet fingerprints on the fabric. Then again, she's probably a mess anyway.

Steve nibbles on her neck and makes a displeased sound when Peggy takes a step back. She's still quite close, but he wouldn't mind wrapping his arms around her properly. He likes to cuddle.

When Peggy leans forward he smiles goofily, thinking she aims for another kiss. But she doesn't. Instead, she reaches for a pen and a sheet of paper that are placed on the other side of the desk. Steve has no idea what she writes down, but he definitely enjoys the way her breasts sway with each scribble.

He looks up at her a little dazed as she straightens. Peggy barely stops herself from laughing at his awed expression. He really shouldn't be looking so cute.

Clearing her throat, she points to the paper she left on the desk.

"My place, tomorrow at seven." It's a bad idea, very bad. To be spending time with the enemy without lawyers' presence and a business based excuse. Even worse to be meeting him for the sole purpose of getting him naked.

But now that Peggy has tasted this surprisingly delightful amuse bouche she wants more.

Steve blinks at her, honestly surprised. A part of him was expecting Carter to storm out and to never see her again. He nods eagerly, rubbing his hands on his thighs in a nervous manner. It's been a while since he was on a real date. If it even is one. But he's going to meet Margaret Carter at her place, maybe even get to kiss her some more. Shit, he's nervous now.

"Don't try to bring me any flowers," Peggy looks at him pointedly. She even lifts her finger in a warning. It's not a date.

Definitely _not a date_.


	5. Chapter 5

The contrast between blood red nailpolish on her toenails and the creamy white carpet fills Peggy with a peculiar satisfaction.

She has always liked constrasts - between colors, textures, sensations. The softness of the fluffy, circular rug under her bare feet makes her yearn for something rougher to combine it with. Like the sting of a garter strap slapping against her skin, or stubble grazing between her thighs.

Her skin there is still reddened, reminding of Steve's face so hungrily diving between her legs the previous day.

She bristles in annoyance.

How two orgasm have made her even more frustrated is beyond her. She suspects it has to do with Rogers himself and the fact she didn't get to explore much of him yet. What she's discovered so far lures her to take a bigger gulp. Judging by Rogers' blissed, nearly dumbstruck face, he wouldn't mind her mouth on him again either.

Peggy curls her toes, not for the first time thinking about having sex on that very carpet. Not the most comfortable, she assumes, but she doesn't care much for it. Different kind of pleasure would triumph over discomfort. She could also save herself from the bruises by mounting Rogers. Make him take all the impact on his ridiculously sculpted body while she rides him to mutual completion.

One thing is sure - she's horny and Rogers is too punctual.

The fact he's not banging on her door right now (and her against them) when there's only fifteen minutes till seven suggests he's annoyingly in control. While Peggy grows impatient and frustrated.

Though the restlessness is a trait somewhat encoded in her DNA, Peggy usually has no problem taming it down when needed. Gritting her teeth and using her grandma's cold bitch tactics. However, if a situation doesn't require constraint, she gladly throws punches. At least verbal ones.

Right at this moment temptation to slam the door in Rogers' face when he arrives is rising. Eleven minutes left. Eleven minutes is enough to take their clothes off and check off the not really needed at this point foreplay. But no, Steven Rogers has to be fucking punctual.

With another annoyed growl, Peggy steps off the soft carpet and marches across the wooden floor to the kitchen. She yanks the fridge door open. There's champagne - for when she decides the other thirst is sated. A platter of some Balkan snacks from Maximoff's that she odered, and a bowl of strawberries.

Peggy takes two red fruits and stuffs both in her mouth. Cold sweetness coats her tongue, a trickle of juice runs down her chin. She wipes it off with her finger then licks it clean.

Just as she sucks on the fingertip there's a knock on the door. Five minutes before time. It ignites a spark of hope that she's not the only one needy.

When Peggy opens the door her breath hitches. Rogers is there. Not how she remembers him. Perfectly tailored suit is gone.

He's wearing jeans and a T-shirt that seems at least a size to small. Jesus, she can see e v e r y t h i n g. Peggy catches her own stunned reflection in his aviators and quickly closes her open mouth.

Judging by the smirk on Roger's face, he noticed anyway.

That little smirk in the corner of his mouth spreads into a full, soft smile. He takes off his sunglasses, revealing bright blue eyes twinkling with a nearly childish happiness. Peggy has no idea how someone can switch from a cocky bastard to a mischievous, boyish mode within a second, but apparently Rogers has it mastered.

And that surprising layer underneath the archenemy slash predator armor she put him in softens Peggy. She knows it's risky to let her own guard down around him. Not only for professional reasons. Hell, it's mostly for personal reasons! In her head it all unfolds too fast - going from _will never fuck him_  to actual sex in merely two weeks is problematic in itself. Yet her body feels stupidly happy with that development. Wanting to know more about Rogers himself, hear his stupid laugh, or have him speak her name is a serious trouble alarm.

But Peggy Carter always went against warnings.

She finds him interesting. A sort of a puzzle that turns out to be unexpectedly delightful the more pieces she discovers. The picture it reveals is not of someone she taught herself to despise for business reasons.

Steve shifts and it's only now that she notices one of his arms is behind his back in an obvious manner of hiding something. Peggy frowns, nearly snapping at him.

"I told you not to-"

"Not to bring you flowers," Steve interrupts her, nodding. "And I didn't. Instead, I have..." He pauses dramatically, nearly provoking Peggy to slam the door in his face, then finally reveals what he's been hiding behind his back.

With the most goofy smile, he presents her with a rectangular box made of see-through plastic with a neon pink logo on it. Inside there are four cupcakes with colorful frosting and little wildberries on top.

Peggy stares at the treats, glances up at Steve and back at the cupcakes. This is probably the cutest thing anyone has done for her since Jacques Dernier gave her a heartshaped, peanut butter and jelly sandwich in kindergarten.

She has had men giving her bouquets, bottles of expensive alcohol, jewelry. Even a custom made pistol. Somehow it all seems so bland compared to the sweet little gift.

Which she shouldn't find as endearing as she does, or so she tells herself.

"You are ridiculous," Peggy mutters, but her voice lacks any annoyance. Her cheeks turn pink, revealing the actual softness under the usual mask of indifference and irritation.

Steve reads it for what it really is - the admission she likes the silly gift and maybe likes him a tiny bit more. He's also smart enough not to fish for more, or to expect she will share the cupcakes with him. Actually, he's pretty sure she'd slap his hand if he reached for one.

When he beams at her Peggy rolls her eyes, though the corners of her mouth twitch in a barely suppressed smile. She uses her hip to open the door wider, motioning for him to move inside. Steve places the cupcakes in her hands as if it's a fragile cargo. Then suddenly leans down and pecks the corner of her mouth.

Before stunned Peggy has a chance to smack him, or shut the door in his face, Steve quickly steps inside. He clasps his hands behid his back, toying with the aviators as he looks around curiously.

"Well aren't you fast, Top Gun," to regain her previous poise and cover the deepening blush, Peggy snorts at the aviators in his hands.

"I'm more of a Braveheart kind of guy," he replies, shrugging.

Peggy regards him for a longer moment. He's looking around her apartment in a not completely nervous manner, more like a very curious cat looking for all the trinkets to explore. Like he's genuinely interested in her place. In Peggy herself.

He doesn't invite himself further in, waiting politely for her to join him. Not for the first time Peggy notices the contrast in his mien. For a rather confident, recklessly bold man who proposed sex on an official meeting, he's surprisingly awkward and shy at times. She's not sure what to make of this.

The only explanation that comes to her mind is similar to reasoning behind her own behaviour. Their blunt directness, wielded skilfully like a weapon, loses its sharpness when unexpected feelings get involved.

Peggy assumes if it was just about sex, like she tries to convince herself it is, they'd be already fucking. Hard. Probably against the door.

But they've caught themselves sort of liking each other. A sudden twist in a simple plot, turning them into awkward singles not knowing how to procede with this courtship.

Adamant on keeping it within the frames of sexual adventure, Peggy decides to ignore the image of Rogers casually sprawled on her sofa in a non-sexual manner, absentmindedly caressing her hair as they watch a movie.

Having sex on said sofa should efficiently erase any soft feelings. Or, following her previous musings, on the rug at least.

When he turns his head and looks back at her with a smile Peggy quickly averts her gaze. With a little huff she hastily moves toward the open kitchen, feeling Rogers following closely behind like a puppy.

Champagne was for later, but she's ready to drink half of the bottle in one go right now if it means washing down the nervous butterflies fluttering in her belly. She's not a teenager to be feeling this way! To be honest, even as a teenager she was always too composed, too in control, and probably too proud, to ever feel the actual lightness and dizziness of being smitten with someone.

Peggy's been in love. She had crushes, too. Yet never felt a sort of... panic when alone with someone she's interested in. The kind that has nothing to do with fear for safety.

Opening the fridge, she turns her back to Steve. "Champagne?" Peggy asks, not looking his way, shoving the box with cupcakes inside. A little too forcefully.

"How about a coffee?" Steve takes a seat on a black barstool by the kitchen island, setting the aviators on the granite counter.

Peggy turns to him so quickly her hair swirls and hits her cheek. Her face glows with annoyance, but Steve's not sure if it's his choice of bewerage or something else that pissed her off. He honestly doubts she hates coffee that much to be disgusted by his fondness of it. 

It can't be that, he knows. Especially considering the fancy coffee maker on the countertop, which he doubts is here only for decoration.

"Listen, Rogers-" Peggy narrows her eyes at him- "you're here to fuck, not to make a polite chitchat over coffee and biscuits."

Somehow he doesn't seem lost, nor intimidated by her outburst. His eyes darken as he slowly drags his gaze up her body, unabashedly stopping at her chest.

"Oh, I'm very aware of that." His reply comes out nearly threatening, eliciting a pleasant jolt that runs down Peggy's spine, spreading tingling sensations to the tips of her fingers.

There's something in his voice, a low and raspy tinge, that has her pulse quickening at the dizzying prospect of him whispering filth into her ear as he fucks her.  

Under Steve's gaze her nipples harden. Peggy deliberately straightens her back, pushing her chest out slightly. Her silky blouse is nearly translucent in this light, Steve would have to be blind not to notice the lack of a bra underneath. The very point of not wearing one was for Rogers to notice. And to shorten the undressing phase.

"Then why do you still have your pants on?" Peggy asks brusquely, arching her brows.

"You didn't tell me to take them off," Steve shrugs. The corner of his mouth twitches in a smirk as he corrects - "Or rather, given your temper, you didn't _demand_  it."

He holds her gaze as Peggy slowly walks toward him, hands purposely placed on her hips to draw attention to the sway. She moves around the counter to stand next to Rogers. As he turns on the barstool to face her she slides between his parted legs.

"Hmm," Peggy tilts her head to the side. "So you'll do what I tell you to?"

The prospect of ordering him around is exciting. For the first time since they met the possibility of gaining any form of upper hand doesn't call to Peggy's professional pride. She doesn't care at all about the merger at the moment.

The fantasy of riding Steve until he helplessly falls apart underneath her serves purely for her physical satisfaction.

Steve slides his hands onto her waist, fingers slipping beneath the delicate fabric of her blouse. He traces lazy circles with his thumbs, evoking goosebumps on Peggy's skin. He pulls her closer and dips his head to trace the tip of his nose up the column of her throat - all in such a subtle way she can barely register any actual movement.

When his left hand travels up her torso to cup her breast, Peggy's breath hitches.

Steve enjoys the weight of her flesh in his palm, the roundness that nearly spills out from his grasp and the stiffness of her nipple grazing his skin. He hums his appreciation right into Peggy's ear before he bites on the sensitive lobe.

"If I find it to my liking."

Steve's low, playful purr makes Peggy dampen.

 _Fuck it_ , she closes her eyes when he pinches her nipple to the point of pleasant pain.

Previous thrill of being in full control over Rogers becomes insipid compared to this. The graceful duel for domination turns her on way more. Not a wild fight with pushing and pulling, though they tend to be extremely arousing, but this kind of a dance where she leads only to suddenly be twirled and dipped low, clinging to Steve for mercy.

As she does now.

Peggy rests her hands on his shoulders, digging her fingers into his flesh as he tweaks her nipple. Steve moves his other hand up her back, pressing her closer to him. The gentle touch as he skims his fingertips up her spine switches to an arousing prickle of pain when he scratches her moving his hand back down.

Peggy lets out a tiny gasp at that, much to Steve's pleasure. She reaches to touch his cheek and tilt his head up, forcing his gaze away from her chest to look her in the eye.

She combs her fingers through Steve's hair as she leans down then grabs a fistful of it the moment their lips meet.

Having him respond so eagerly to a harsh tug, Peggy begins to understand the thrill Rogers must've felt when he got her trapped against the window. Peggy herself likes being the recipient as much as taking the role of a perp.

Soft gasp at the tingling burn that his beard revokes on her soft skin makes Steve chuckle. Peggy yanks on his hair a little harder. Not much of a reprimand, judging by the huffed moan that leaves his mouth right before he nips on her lower lip. Seems that Rogers likes it on the rough side.

The sound of unexpected, obnoxious knocking freezes them suddenly.

At least it reaches Peggy's ears. She stills in place, frowning. Rogers' hands keep wandering, though. He tugs her blouse out of her pants then moves them lower and squeezes her ass. 

Peggy glares at him, but her eyes flutter close when Steve closes his mouth over her nipple and sucks. He leaves a wet spot on the white fabric.

When the knocking repeats, louder and even more annoying, Peggy curses. She casts a murderous glare toward the hall then glances at Steve with regret.

He nips on her breast playfully before pulling back to give her some room to move. He definitely enjoys the view of a more than slightly disheveled Margaret Carter stomping toward the door. Damn, her ass looks good when she's on a murder strut. 

The fact he's not the one she's aiming for right now feels good too. 

Steve never cared much for anyone's opinion. Growing up with most people judging him by his size and weak health, he's learned to stop caring what others think of him. With a few exceptions. On the professional ground he cares about it even less, though he tries his best not to be an asshole when it's not needed. 

Carter's opinion of him didn't matter much.

Until it started to.

With a little sigh, he props his cheek on his fist and watches Peggy disappear in the hall. "Try not to fuck this up, Rogers," he mutters to himself. 

The knocking continues stubbornly as Peggy moves toward the door, heightening the urge to punch whoever's outside. Gritting her teeth, Peggy yanks the door open and spats without preamble, "What?!" 

Her grandmother would be aghast. Then again, if she was interrupted in the middle of a promising, hot sex after weeks of unbearable frustration, she'd be rabid like a berserker too. 

Unfortunately for Peggy, the sight that greets her is one that immediately kills any mood. 

Jack Thompson is leaning against the door frame, his hand clenched into a fist with which he was banging on her door. He looks bored and unimpressed with her fury. But he's never been moved by anything other than his own reflection. 

He straightens, tucking his hands in his pockets. Peggy keeps a stony face as Thompson eyes her up and down, smirking at her disheveled state. 

"Marge," he greets her with a sneer. "Seems I've interrupted."

"What do you want Jack?" Peggy serves him the monotone voice she reserves for people feeding on other's irritation, knowing well that nothing angers them more than not raising to the bait. 

Having experience with Carter's cold attitude and its aftermath, Thompson discontinues the teasing. At least for now. He turns serious, as much as Jack can treat anything with seriousness and respect. 

"Your mother wants to speak with you."

At the mention of her mother Peggy's hand clenches into a fist. A twitch, involuntary by now, she developed early in her teenage years. Physical tension to cover up the emotional discomfort and pain. Suppressing and avoidance are Peggy's preferred ways of dealing with the burning hail that Claire Carter is. 

"She can call me." Peggy's cold tone sounds uninviting at least. 

Conversations with her mother are rarely pleasant. Most of the time they are about Michael, how great he is and how Peggy disrespected all he's done for the family. At times, for a change, Claire focuses on Peggy alone. Those are the worst. 

"She did. But you never answer," Jack looks at her pointedly. Being a very busy businesswoman is a convincing excuse, but they both know Peggy would sooner find the time for a canvasser than her own mother. 

Peggy snorts at that, not even remotely regretful. "And you of course know how that hurts her fragile, little heart," she flouts. 

"Tell me, Jack, do you cuddle her after fucking?" 

It's not even an affair between Jack and her mother. Just a rare, occasional fuck whenever the Mistress feels like mounting her bodyguard boy. Claire doesn't have a ton of lovers, nor any scandalous romances. Quite the contrary, she clings to Henry Carter with all her might. And he loves her. Still.

Peggy has stopped trying to understand her parents and their twisted relationship, she has enough reasons to abhor her mother even without her impulsive infidelities. 

Jack's face reddens and Peggy barely constrains a sickenly pleased smile at his discomfort.

He huffs in annoyance, losing his composure. "She cares about your family's legacy. The company-" 

"Don't bother, Jackson." Claire Carter's voice never reminded Peggy of happy childhood memories. Instead, it makes her tense.

Peggy clenches her fists tighter, nails digging into her skin, as she watches her mother appear behind Thompson. Dark hair pulled into a fancy chignon, pearls in her ears and three strings of them around her neck. Her eyes are brown, like Peggy's. Soft, round features sharpened by a displeased grimace. They look very alike, Peggy knows it. She hates it, always had.

"My daughter has no respect for her family's name," Claire moves to stand beside Thompson, who takes a step back. A pitiful semblance of professionalism that makes Peggy want to roll her eyes.

Under her mother's scrutinizing look she only tilts her chin in defiance. No better way to piss off her mother than wearing a crumpled, translucent blouse with wet spots like a shiny armor. Claire's lips thin in disapproval. "Once again putting your own gain over family, I see."

Gone are the days when Peggy would crumble under that punch. It still stings, but she grew resilient to her mother's jabs. Now Peggy Carter deals with harpies like her own mother and other beasts that lurk in the business world. People who act as if their last name opens all vaults. She handles them like Natasha does her court opponents - with poison injected through gracefully put cuts. 

"Cut the bullshit, mother," Peggy gives her a level look. "You're here because I won't give Michael any money for his grand, new business idea." 

Another one. There have been at least five in the past two years, all made on a spur of a moment. Michael lacks the ability to think things through. Even in business he has never worked up the habit of checking backgrounds, doing researches, or calculating risks.

Peggy can honestly admit she tends to be impulsive in her reactions - a trait apparently common in the Carter family. However, she's never acted on it profesionally. Yes, the itch to smack some opponents with a stapler is immense at times, but she manages to control the urge.

Michael could do that as well, he simply chooses not to. Instead, he takes a leaf out of their mother's book.

Demand, make a scene, hit the guilt button. 

"Which you're doing out of spite!" Claire snaps suddenly. She calms down as quickly as she burst. Glancing to the side, she lets out a nervous laugh and twists a string of pearls around her finger. With a shake of her head she looks back at Peggy. "Just like you're keeping me in the corridor. It's not like you can't give him the money-"

"Actually, she can't." 

Though it's impolite, Steve was listening to the conversation. At least the last part of it. If not by the tone of their voices, he'd recognize Peggy's tension by her posture alone. Rigid and closed off, an abrupt change from the pliant softness she presented mere minutes ago. 

Gently, he touches Peggy's shoulder in a gesture that speaks of closeness, but isn't a show of anything more than friendship. Even if it's apparent what they've been up to, Steve finds no desire to let anyone in on that matter. 

"If you don't mind, please let your mother in, so we can establish legal boundaries of investing Carters' takings." The tone with which Steve speaks reminds Peggy of the first impression she got of him - of a cold blooded shark. Or simply an asshole.

"It shouldn't take long, considering they're quite strict. But-" he pauses to grace Claire Carter with a cold gaze- "if you show difficulties understanding those rules, our legal department will provide you, and any member of the Carter family, with a legally binding document explaining how severe the repercussions for breaking the boundaries would be." 

Peggy maintains stoic, but _fuck_ if his tone didn't just turn her on a bit.

She lets her mother into the apartment, but closes the door in Thompson's face with a pleased smirk at his muffled curse. Once inside, Claire looks around the apartment with the same scrutinizing approach she used to check Peggy's room at home. Like when she was a teenager Peggy only rolls her eyes. 

Steve takes a seat on the same barstool he occupied before they were interrupted. Though all her life she has never allowed anyone to get involved in her arguments with mother, never need anyone to do so, Peggy finds this unexpected alliance with Rogers somewhat comforting.  

Maybe it's his aloof attitude, so different from how people usually treat Claire.

By the look on Steve's face alone it's clear he's going to keep it strictly about business and gains, not for a second allowing her mother to hope for success. It irks a part of Peggy, too, reminding of the same reserve he showed her when starting merger negotiations.

"You're Steven Rogers," Claire regards him, poorly hiding her annoyance. She takes a seat on the couch, theatrically sighing and readjusting. A pea under ten fluffy pillows would still grate her, Peggy thinks. "We haven't met, but I've heard about you." When she lifts her gaze at Steve again, excessively flickering her eyelashes, Peggy nearly gags. The sweetness and flirtation soak her tone even as she attempts a verbal jab at him. 

"Figured you have to be Rogers. From what I've heard about Barnes, he's polite and charming. Traits you rather lack, apparently." 

"Ma'am," Steve looks at her blankly. "I could argue with your opinion, if I gave a fuck about it. I don't." 

Redness blooms on Claire's cheeks, quickly spreading down her neck. A furious hiss escapes her lips. Corners of Peggy's lips twitch in a barely stifled smirk. Initially, she wanted to quickly draw the line and tell him to keep out of it, but it seems she might enjoy how Rogers leads this conversation.  

Claire's pearls rattle when she abruptly stands up, raising her index finger in an attempt of establishing dominance by her stance alone. " _You_ will not talk to me like that!"

"Mother-" Peggy tries to interrupt what she knows is about to escalate into a dramatic outburst worthy of a silver screen diva. But once in the spotlight, Claire Carter won't let anyone calm her down before she makes her grand show. 

Relentlessness, that trait Peggy has always admired. The means of expressing it, not so much.

"This has nothing to do with you and yet you dare to step in with no tact whatsoever. You may be fucking my daughter-" Claire settles her gaze on Peggy for a long moment, before flicking it back to Rogers- "but I will not let you fuck over our family as well! It's outrageous, that insolence with which you try messing with matters you have no say in. Have you wrapped my daughter so tightly around your finger that you influence her private decisions as well? Don't think for a second that I don't see what you're after. Sleazy bastards liked you are like leeches, not satisfied until they suck the last drop out."

Steve doesn’t react. He merely blinks an eye, holding Claire’s enraged gaze.

Men always bent their backs for her, more often to avoid dramatic outbursts than to please. Peggy knows her father and Michael prefer to do as her mother says for the sake of avoiding hysterics, not because they trust her judgment. For the first time a man shows no interest in placating Claire.

Quite the contrary. Steve seems to be interested in pissing her off even more.

Peggy finds herself extremely pleased with that.

"If you're done with your fiery speech, I'll get to the point," Steve says, with a deadpan expression. His restraint irritates Claire further. "Carter Company's means are frozen while undergoing the merger. They cannot be withdrawn or invested. When the merger is finalized we, meaning CEOs of PBB and Miss Margaret Carter, will establish a board of conjoined forces to choose our investments in the future."

Leaning back, Steve intertwines his fingers behind his head in an arrogant manner.

"Frankly," he adds nonchalantly, "I don't foresee PBB ever financing your son's projects, given the history of his previous business decisions."

With Michael's failures being dragged out into the spotlight, Peggy knows it's seconds before her mother hits the highest note of her hysterics. So she decides to intervene before Claire scratches Steve's eyes out. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, Peggy steps forward, standing between Rogers and her mother. Though in a rather rude way, Steve brought up the legal reasons she couldn't lend her brother the money. However, she needs to voice her own arguments. Not in hope of making her mother understand - that's futile, she knows - but to reinforce her position as the head of Carters' Company.

A position which her mother still refuses to respect the way she did when Michael was in charge. 

"Mother," Peggy's voice is a sharp laceration, cutting off her mother's steam. "I'm going to tell you the same thing I have told Michael. Which, I'm sure, he reported to you, but you refused to accept it. If my brother ever presents a well thought-out project, with full assessment of possible gains and loses, as well thorough market research, I'd be delighted to give it a chance and bring it to the board."

Claire opens her mouth, undoubtedly to object, but Peggy interrupts her coldly - "No, his current idea, just like the previous ones, is not a good one. It's actually stupid. Michael is reckless with his decisions. A dreamer who doesn't think about the consequences."

"I won't give him the money, because _I_ think about the consequences. They affect not only our family and company, but also thousands of our employees. In that equation I won't choose my spoiled brother and your pride over other people's stability." 

Her mother has always been quick to tear up, as she does now, though Peggy isn't sure if she's really so sensitive or if it's a trick convened when needed. Tears shimmer in Claire's brown eyes, her lips are pursed tightly. A part of Peggy, that small girl inside her who doesn't want to cause her mum any sorrow, breaks in guilt. She stays unmoved. Holds her mother's gaze, but says nothing when Claire slowly tilts her chin up then turns on her heels to leave. 

Peggy doesn't even flinch when her mother walks out without a word, slamming the door loudly. 

It's not the first and probably not the last time Peggy's attempt at communicating with her mother ends with a passive-aggressive acts. 

The silence that follows Claire's exit stretches around like a thick web. Peggy can hear her own breathing, her heart pounding in her chest. And not a sound from Rogers. She's grateful he doesn't try to speak up, to console her in any way. 

When she finally turns around she catches Steve studying her with more interest than pity, something she welcomes with great relief. There is, however, a hint of remorse on his part. A faint, pink blush on his cheeks as he hangs his head low and looks up at Peggy.

"I'm sorry, I guess." He smiles at her bashfully, nervously scratching the back of his head.

"You guess?" Peggy arches a brow.

"For getting in the middle of it," Steve clarifies, lifting his head up. "Not much for how I treated your mother." He punctuates his admission with a smirk. He's not sorry about that at all. He honestly doubts he could ever genuinely like Claire Carter, a bully even in her pretty angelic form. 

At that Peggy rolls her eyes and snorts. "You're such a little shit, Rogers."

As if it's the highest compliment, Steve beams up. Once again Peggy finds herself taken aback with the boyish charm hidden under the rutheless, business facade Steve Rogers presents. With which he has treated her mother - something that Claire's bruised pride will remember for a while. 

They fall silent again. Their interruption was rather cold, definitely mood ruining. The spot on Peggy's blouse, where he sucked on her nipple, is already dry. Calling it off and saying goodnight is a reasonable decision. However, Peggy would be lying, if she said she doesn't want Steve anymore. Arousal still bubbles under the surface, evoking a quick reaction when Steve moves to stand up and his body brushes along hers.

"Should I be leaving?" he asks. His fingers slide up her sides, stroking longingly. 

Peggy tilts her head back, regarding him with a warning glare. "You should finally take off your pants, Rogers." 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, finally an update. This time with a _point_ that everyone (especially Peggy) have been waiting for.

His laughter booms out, loud and hearty. As it fills the open space of her apartment Peggy realizes how empty and quiet it's been until now.

She never minded the silence, treated it as much needed peace. A safe, if modern and luxurious, cave to hide in. Now it feels as if she's been missing a valuable piece without realizing it.

Occasional lovers provided pleasant distraction, some even passionate discussions following the afterglow. Neither had, however, laughed so carefree as if enjoying her company for something more than a promise of sex. 

Peggy doesn't intend to dwell on that now. Too mesmerized with the roaring laugh of a man who mere minutes ago buldozed Claire Carter, leaving icy spikes in his wake. There's so much more to Steve Rogers than she assumed and that thought grazes on her, in spite of her stubborn refusal to explore it further. 

When Steve shakes his head slightly, his laughter softly ceasing, Peggy quickly wraps her arms around his neck. She pulls him down - and pushes herself up on tiptoes - to kiss him.

Corners of his mouth are still tilted in a smile when she flicks his bottom lip with her tongue. He responds with tamed vehemence, using his height and strength to tip her back and take control over the kiss. 

It's a rush. A dizzying velocity in switching from moodless awkwardness to this crazy need.

Peggy scratches her fingernails along his nape, quickly finding that prickle of sensation spurs Rogers on. He tightens his arms around her, crushing her against him. She tells herself it's the chafing of the fabric against her skin that painfully hardens her nipples, not the way Steve's mouth explores hers. Obscenly. 

Sliding her hands down his back, Peggy starts to tug on his T-shirt, trying to pull it up. Her impatience makes him groan. And stop.

Steve pulls away, a bit out of breath. His lips are parted and moist, reminding Peggy of her own slick glistening on his face yesterday. It stunned her how wrecked he looked, though he was the one ruining her into a mess. Now the scale is tipped onto his side as well - Peggy knows her own frustration divests her of any semblance of control - yet it seems that mere kiss hit him with a great impact. 

"Bedroom?" Though Steve's voice is raspy and soft, it feels more like a command than a question. 

Peggy frowns at him. For all the blunt honesty in his desire to fuck her, he shows peculiar persistance in being old-fashioned about it.

Unreasonably, in Peggy's opinion. Not that she doesn't appreciate the gesture, or the tenderness under his harsh grip on her hips, but there is a _point_ she wants to reach and she wants it now. Bed is not necessary to achieve it. 

"Too far. Screw it." She nearly growls and with renewed impatience takes off her own blouse, tossing it to the floor. 

Steve's eyes darken. Unabashedly, he swipes his gaze down to the creamy roundness of her breasts. Heavy and full, he knows they will spill out of his hand. Unless he tightens his grip.

He wonders if she'd moan or whimper. 

Peggy's eager fingers reach for the buckle of his belt, barely touching it when Steve catches her wrists with a swift move. She glares at him, but the bastard doesn't show an ounce of remorse. 

"The hell, Rogers?" She sounds petulant, a tone that irritates her. A trait she inherited from her mother, though has worked hard to get rid of it, or at least its obvious manifestations.

It's much harder to do when her frustration runs into a solid wall of chivalrous behaviour that, while sweet, is needless at the moment. 

She doesn't understand it. Rogers had the balls to go down on her in his office. His reluctance toward her living room is ludicrous! 

Effortlessly, Steve pulls her arms behind her back, holding her wrists. Still gently. He knows it's a thin line he's balancing on right now, risking a smackdown and castration if he pushes Carter too hard. Even if the mere idea of pushing her in any way rushes his blood south, he prefers playing it cautiously. The fact Margaret is on the brink of boiling with frustration is a stupidly pleasing confidence boost. One he doesn't want to defuse in five minutes like a horny teenager. 

"I want to fuck you. Thoroughly." Steve's growl puffs against Peggy's parted lips, sending a shiver down her spine.

In normal circumstances she wouldn't let anyone get away with looming over her like that, but _fuck_ , right now the heat pooling between her thighs threatens to allow Rogers do anything to her.

"A quickie on the sofa doesn't meet the requirements," he smirks at her.

Steve releases her wrists then grabs her ass and hoists her up. 

Peggy lets out a little squeak, instantly grasping his shoulders for support as he lifts her off the floor. Rogers shows off, but it still thrills her how easily he manages to do it. She's not a lightweight, and while she had sex against the wall a few times it was straining. None of her partners were able to hold her so effortlessly. 

She's nose to nose with him now, her feet dangling above the floor. Steve grins, then squeezes her ass and yanks her up until she wraps her legs around his hips.

They both groan when she grinds against him.

"Bedroom," he demands through clenched teeth.

Hastily, Peggy motions a hall on the left, her other arm secured around his neck.

She trails kisses down his throat as Steve moves in the pointed direction. He manages not to stumble as her teeth sink into his pulse, only his grip on her butt tightens. It's a miracle they even make it to the bedroom. With her halfnaked in his arms, breasts pressed into his chest and hips rolling against him, it takes all of the remaining shreds of his restraint not to press her against the wall. 

He lets her down once they bump into the bed. Soft body slides along his as Peggy lowers herself to sit on the edge of the mattress.

She's quick to unbuckle his belt, before he gets a chance to stop her again. Cooperating with her plans, _finally_ , Steve pulls his own T-shirt over his head, tossing it carelessly aside.

Peggy stops with her hands on his zipper, gaze suddenly glued to his naked torso. 

Broad and sculpted like she assumed, but the vivid twirls of coloured ink on his light skin are a surprise. 

"You've got tattoos," Peggy says in bewilderment, her gaze shifting back and forth between the one on his ribs to the one spread over his shoulder and clavicle. Both quite big and detailed. 

With her face so close to his belly, Peggy's warm breath sinks into his skin in melting puffs, rushing all of the blood to his cock, so Steve has a harder time concentrating on her words. 

"Yeah," he rasps out, sounding nearly broken.

He clears his throat when Peggy trails her fingers up his side, tracing the red, blue and silver lines of his tattoo. 

Pressing her lips to his skin, she moves her hands up his chest then rakes her fingernails down, relishing in how his abdominal muscles quiver. Deciding to explore the inked stories on Steve's body later, Peggy resumes her previous focus on unzipping his pants. 

She tugs his jeans down, both of them moaning when he's finally free of them. 

Peggy wraps her fingers around the base, peppering Steve's abdomen with open, wet kisses. With her free hand she squeezes his thigh. 

"You're going to ruin me." Steve groans when she looks up at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes. 

Peggy only grins and then her tongue glides along his hot flesh. Soft and wet. She torments him with playful flicks before showing mercy and taking him in her mouth. 

As he slides his fingers into her hair, tugging not so gently, she lets out a moan - the sound vibrating around his dick. It makes Steve jerk uncontrollably, pulling her head further down on him until she gags. But when he tries to quickly withdraw, Peggy needles her nails into his thigh and deliberately swallows around him. 

"Fuck!" Steve clenches his fingers in her hair, his own head thrown back. 

He pulls away, despite Peggy's grunts of protest.

Her lips are obscenely red and wet, a string of spit glistening on her chin. There's only a thin thread of control left in him that prevents Steve from fucking her mouth in earnest.

Judging by the look on her face, Peggy wouldn't be opposed to that.

Steve kicks his shoes and jeans off. When he takes a step towards her Peggy instinctively backs on the bed, heart hammering in her chest. She feels like a voluntary prey to a hungry predator on a prowl. A feeling quite new to her as she's usually the one taking the lead. 

She laughs a little when Rogers struggles with taking off her skinny jeans. She's sure he'd burn them in retaliation, if he had the time. 

"I prefer you in dresses," he mutters, climbing the mattress and kissing his way up her leg. "And garters." His dreamy sigh soaks into her thigh right before he nips it. 

Peggy parts her legs, but Steve clearly has other plans. In a swift move he flips her onto her stomach. She barely manages to adjust when he lifts her hips up and pulls her undergarments down. 

Not one of Peggy's preferred positions, but she eagerly wiggles her butt, happy to finally get to the best part. 

Instead of a stretching thrust, however, she feels a tickle of hot breath and then Steve's mouth is on her. Hot, teasing, and with that maddening graze of bristle. 

She's still a little sore where his beard scrapes against the burns he left on her thighs yesterday, but his tongue on her core feels too good for her to care.

Steve kisses her open mouthed as if he would her lips. Tongue flicking tauntingly before suddenly dipping deeper, fucking her ferociously. 

Coarse fingers dig into her skin as he holds her spread. Then one of his hands disappears. Seconds later Peggy feels Steve's moan resonate against her dripping heat and realizes he's touching himself. 

That thought tips her over. Or maybe it's his thumb that he moved to mercilessly rub on her clit. 

Peggy comes with a hoarse cry. Her hands slip off the headboard and she falls down, burying her face in the pillows. She goes lax, quivering only with the aftershocks rocking through her. Helpless whimpers bubble out on her lips as Steve continues feasting on her.

He's relentless. It's sweet and overwhelming, but everything is oversensitive now, bordering on painful. If he makes her come again now, she'll likely pass out. Peggy has to twist her arm behind and grab his hair, trying to stop him.

"Stop," she pants out. "It's too much. I need a moment."

Expecting Rogers to be a teasing jerk, she's surprised that he obeys instantly, without even a flick against her throbbing clit.

He does, however, bite her ass. Peggy yips, nearly kicking him. 

"You're insufferable," she groans into the mattress. 

Peggy would gladly grab one of the pillows and throw it at him when Steve laughs, but her arms feel boneless. Her whole body seems devoid of it's strength, though it buzzes with sensation that's enough motivating for Peggy to roll onto her back.

Through heavy-lidded eyes she watches Steve as he gets off the bed in search of his pants. 

Traces of her slick still glisten on his lips and beard, and there are faint pinked lines on his chest where she raked her fingernails minutes ago. Apparently Steve's skin bruises easily.

Somehow the thought of him bearing her marks throughout the next days pleases Peggy. 

Steve makes a little triumphant sound after finding his jeans under the bed and straightens up seconds later. With a whole strip of condoms in his hand. He looks stupidly proud of himself. 

"Jesus." Peggy snorts and drops her head onto the pillows. 

Bending one leg at the knee, she sways it left to right. When Steve kneels on the mattress, dropping the condoms next to her hips, Peggy moves her foot to poke his thigh.

"I prefer quality to quantity," she looks pointedly at him. "So if it's gonna be a series of three minutes humping-"

"Shut up, Margaret," Steve interrupts her, gripping under her knees and spreading her legs wide.

He leans down to lick her nipple then blows on it. It hardens instantly.

"Peggy." She sighs. Steve's body on her as he settles between her legs is a welcome weight. It's been a while since she was pinned to the bed, to any surface really. The thrill of it spreads through her body in a warm wave, blooming with pink spots on her neck and chest.

Steve peeks at her from where his mouth is trailing kisses over her breast, a puzzled look on his face. Peggy thrusts her fingers into his tousled hair. She arches her back, much to Steve's delight. 

"Peggy," she repeats, "call me Peggy. Or Carter. Or anything else. Just not Margaret." That name reminds her of her mother and it's definitely not a topic either of them should be thinking about now. There's been enough of Claire ruining the mood for one day.  

A smile lightens his face and Peggy barely refrains from rolling her eyes. Rogers is the first man to be so genuinely happy just because she let him call her Peggy. She's glad he doesn't comment on it with some ridiculous line about feeling honored.

Instead, he buries his face in her chest, kissing and nipping. Bracing his elbows on Peggy's sides, he cups her breasts and pushes them together. He licks over her nipples in a long swipe then takes turns circling each peak with the tip of his tongue. When he sucks on one Peggy's fingers in his hair clench and her hips roll against his pelvis.

She's wet and so fucking hot, and rocks right against his cock. 

"Peggy." Steve groans, pausing to suck on the other nipple before he literally plants his face in her breasts with a sigh. "I fucking love your tits." 

"Uh-huh." Right now she doesn't even feel like teasing him for being so predictable, such a typical male. Not when he's pressed so close that each move of her hips rubs him against her clit.

Peggy lifts her legs, digging her heels into the back of his thighs. "Come on," she urges. "Fuck me!"

He mutters a curse, a shiver rolling through him. He licks a long line from her sternum to her chin, which he nips before kissing her on the lips. 

With difficulty, Steve presses his palms into the mattress and pushes himself up, hovering above Peggy. She's a sight. Hair spilled over the sheets, eyes sparkling, lips red and parted - beautiful as ever.

Yeah, he wants to fuck her. Has been dreaming of it for quite a whie, with an embarrassingly strong reaction. 

He sits back and reaches for the condom. The sound of foil crinkling draws Peggy's attention. She shifts her gaze from Steve's flushed face to his fingers nimbly rolling the latex on.  

He grips himself tightly, watching Peggy's breasts rise and fall with tattered breaths. He reaches for her hips and yanks them up, holding her in place as he slides in.

Peggy keens, fingers gripping at the rumpled sheets, eyes squeezing shut. It's a stretch and she's not sure if it's been so long for her, or if she underestimated his girth. She couldn't have, she had him in her mouth for God's sake. Yet the burning spreads as she clamps on him.

Through the rush of blood pounding in her head she barely registers Steve murmuring something. 

When she opens her eyes the sight of him nearly undoes her. 

Hair falls over his forehead. Usually sharp, blue eyes are hazy. He's flushed, perhaps even more than she is. Teeth sinking into his lower lip, he stares at where their bodies are joined in awe. The contrast of how disarmingly cute he looks with the filthy way he's been handling her astonishes Peggy.

It also turns her on immensely.

The long pause in movement Peggy could take as his way of giving her time to adjust, but she suspects it's mostly for the sake of his own control. 

Then his grip on her hips tightens. Steve withdraws slightly then pulls her onto him again. Hard. 

"Oh!" Peggy gasps when the unusual angle allows his dick to bump against a particularly sensitive spot. 

Despite her feet planted on the mattress, she's got no leverage in this position. Balancing on her upper back, Peggy can only watch and feel Steve moving her however he wants.

She studies the veins protruding in his arms, the sheen of sweat on his skin, the play of black ink covering his left clavicle and shoulder each time he moves his arms to lead her hips. 

He fucks her with no haste, yet there's a palpable urgency in it. 

Suddenly he tumbles them over, pinning Peggy to the bed and sinking in deeper. Hot breath skims the skin of her neck where Steve buries his face. She moves her hands to his back, his muscles ripple under her sweaty palms. Steve's shoulders are broad, arms massive, and she feels so wonderfully wrapped in that heavy embrace. 

Peggy rolls her hips against him, trying to match the quickening pace. A muscle in her left calf starts throbbing and she frantically kicks her foot back and fort, trying to will the threatening cramp away. But then Steve drives into her harder, pinches her nipple, and the heat in Peggy's abdomen coils tightly.

Climax hits her in a rush, straining each of her muscles anew. 

Steve looks at her intently, drinking in the expression on her face as she comes. He kisses her then, while she's still whimpering, never faltering in his moves. 

She expects him to follow soon after, but as she softens he slips out and flips her onto her belly. Peggy presses her cheek to the mattress, hastily brushing away the mess of hair covering her face. Steve's mouth seals on her shoulder in time with his thrust, teeth sinking into her tender skin when she clenches around him.

Each thrust causes her clit to rub against the sheet, spiking her arousal into an overpowering madness.

Falling over the pinnacle is nearly painful this time, Peggy's voice turning raspy as her scream dies. She barely hears Rogers muttering her name in a broken voice, but she feels him stilling and twitching inside of her. 

Minutes later she finally opens her eyes to find herself snuggled to Steve's side. She didn't even feel him rolling them over and readjusting their bodies. Nor did she notice him taking off the condom and disposing of it.

She decides not to complain, given how comfortable she is now. 

Though his breathing is as shaky as hers, it seems Rogers regains his strength much faster. She needs to up her gym game. At least if she wants to keep up with him. 

It strikes Peggy how unopposed she is to the idea. For now, however, she convinces herself it's solely for the mindblowing sex. 

And a little for the pleasant feeling of being crushed to his side. 

Peggy tilts her head slightly, watching Steve as he curiously looks around her bedroom. He's got ridiculously long eyelashes that seem even longer from this angle than normally.

Steve's gaze wanders around, stopping on each item within the creamy walls as if it held the key to understanding Margaret- _Peggy_ Carter.

There's a vintage vanity made of dark, polished wood, with a three-winged mirror that reflects the bed - and gives him a filthy idea. A sturdy dresser, matching the vanity, stands by the wall on the right. Two pictures in thin, golden frames are placed on top of it. 

One is of a newlywed couple, probably from the 50's. The woman in a calf-lenght white dress holds on to a tall man in uniform. Steve can't be sure, especially from this distance, but it looks like he's wearing RAF service dress. Could be Peggy's grandparents. 

The second photo is of Peggy. With a little blonde girl. Both of them grinning, pressed cheek to cheek. 

Ajar door, leading to an en suite bathroom where he cleaned up earlier, have a big glass panel in the middle made from colorful pieces forming a mosaic. 

There's not much more in the bedroom. A bedside cabinet with a modern, sleek lamp on it, a single orchid in a white pot on the windowsill. 

And a neon pink, plastic flamingo in the corner by the window. 

"Now _that_ is something I didn't expect to see at your place," Steve chuckles. The classy, vintage vibe smoothly combined with modern interior is exactly how he pictured Carter's little kingdom to be. The flamingo is not.

Peggy lifts her head to look at whatever his gaze is fixed on then flops back down with a shrug. 

"That's Bernard. A gift from a good friend." She still vividly remembers Ana's broad grin when she presented the plastic bird on Peggy's twenty fifth birthday. A token of their summer vacation in LA and the misadventures with a real flamingo.

Steve nods with a small smile curving his lips. He knows a thing or two about gifts from friends and their significance. He still has the boat Bucky made for him when they were kids. He could afford a real, fancy boat nowadays, a fact Bucky reminds him of whenever he sees that crooked masterpiece he carved as a nine year old displayed above the fireplace at Steve's house, but it wouldn't have the same value. Not emotionally. 

With a moan, Peggy stretches lazily, aware of Roger's gaze shifting to her and gliding over her naked body.

Reluctantly, she slides off the bed and paddles to the kitchen. Her legs feel awfully wobbly. When she comes back two minutes later, the box with cupcakes and a bottle of champagne in her hands, Steve is seated comfortably among fluffed pillows, his back against the headboard.

Still naked, without the slightest hint of modesty.

"Oh, do I get a cupcake?" He beams at her. His eyes, however, are focused too high on her chest for his eagerness to be about the actual cupcakes.

This time Peggy rolls her eyes.

"You get the champagne," she hands him the bottle before climbing the bed. "I'll think about the cupcakes."

She sits crosslegged beside him, picking a cupcake with small, sugar ladybugs sprinkled on the frosting, while Steve opens the bottle. The cork pops with a hiss, fortunately no sparkling fountain spills over the covers.

When Steve gives her the bottle Peggy takes a long gulp straight from it then enjoys a huge bite of the cupcake. Steve chuckles to himself before tipping the bottle to his lips.

"Cupcakes, champagne and sex," he licks his lips with an approving hum, "-think you figured the meaning of life, Peggy." 

"And you got the right order." Peggy nods at him with acknowledgement. She sighs with delight as the next bite melts on her tongue, chocolate and orange flavors filling her mouth.

"I feel honored that you chose to go with sex first for tonight." His blue eyes light up with joy, lips curving in a teasing smile.

Steve's aware he should consider himself very lucky, not only for that reason. The fact she let him anywhere near is close to be recognized as a small miracle. Merger aside, Margaret Carter tends to keep everyone at arm's length.

Steve can understand that. He keeps to himself as well.

Tabloids paint him as this reserved guy with some hidden, dark means. People in connected business circles are wary around him and it always seems as if a huge burden fell of their chests when he smiles and chats with them easily. He knows he generally comes off as an asshole, which - honestly - isn't a wrong assessment. But he reserves that side of him mainly for business in which he has to deal with idiots and greedy douchebags on a daily basis. 

Sometimes he wonders how have he and Bucky found themselves in that shinning shit. 

"I was horny." Peggy admits with a shrug.

She swipes a dollop of frosting on her finger then sucks it off, all the while holding Rogers' gaze. 

"I've noticed," he takes another swig of the champagne. "You're quite demanding day-to-day, but I didn't know you're also this impatient. Or is it only when you're horny?"

"Fuck you, Rogers," she snarls around a bite, but her tone lacks true annoyance. Sweets always had the power to pacify her.

Besides, she's pleasantly sated.

Corner of Steve's mouth tilts in a cocky smirk. Peggy already knows what he's gonna say, in that he is as predictable as any other male. At least he's not as lewd as the Starks.

"It's Steve. And you did. But-" he sets the bottle aside on the bedside cabinet, "-I'm game for next round, if you are." 

When he leans toward with clear intent of kissing her Peggy shoves a cupcake in his face, smearing some frosting on his nose and cheek in the process.

"Right now I want sugar, _Steve_." 

With a huff, he takes the offered cupcake and sits back with a poorly feigned pout. He's not going to complain about being given a little treat, though he wouldn't mind letting Peggy eat all the cupcakes while he treats himself to her. 

Peggy moves to the middle of the bed and flops down on her belly, half-eaten cupcake still in her hand. She gets comfortable, leaning her side against Steve's leg. Damn, he's warm. She wouldn't need covers if she fell asleep spooned to him. Peggy quickly brushes that image away. 

"So-" she licks the rest of the frosting off the cupcake. "We're going to be working together soon. Though, let it be known, that I'd shove that merger up your ass if thousands jobs didn't depend on it. Anyway, we'll be coworkers in a sense." She refuses to admit that technically he'll be her boss. "Besides, we just had sex, so I guess that privacy is sort of out the window. This gives me a right to ask a certain question."

"Which is?" Steve arches a brow and takes a huge bite of his cupcake. 

"What the hell does PBB mean?!" It annoys her immensely that the Carter's Company is going to be ingested by a monstrous concern which full name is fucking unknown. Only a meaningless abbrevation, explained nowhere. 

Steve nearly chokes on the cupcake as he bursts out laughing.

And he doesn't seem able to stop. Not for a long moment.

"Stop laughing, you dork." Peggy glares at him. She finishes her cupcake and licks her fingers clean before poking his belly with one.

"No one knows what it means. It's not on your company's web page, not in any of the bios, nor mentioned in interviews. Did you just pick some random scrabble letters when deciding on the name?" 

Slowly, Steve's laughter ceases, though the crinkles around his eyes stay. He reaches for the champagne to down the few crumbs stuck in his throat. 

"It has a meaning." He assures her with a chuckle, putting the bottle aside. Sitting back comfortably, he takes a small bite of the cupcake before speaking again.

"Since we were kids, Bucky and I had always planned to start a business together. At first it was supposed to be a Brooklyn centred lemonade empire, if I remember correctly. Then an airline because of course we wanted to become pilots. Other options made the list as we grew. Ideas changed, but the name stayed the same." A fond smile forms on his lips at the memory.

"Fortunately, we've realized that a name created by seven year olds sounds a bit lame, especially in the field we play right now, so we chose to use the abbrevation." He pauses to swallow the rest of the cupcake.

Peggy's sure he does it also because he likes being dramatic. 

"Project Brooklyn Boys." Steve finally says, bowing his head in mild embarrassement. 

Peggy stares at him for a long moment, not even blinking. Informations sink in and she realizes that two sharp moguls who intend to take over her family's company are sentimental fools. 

She plants her face in the sheets with a groan.

Steve's not sure, but it sounds like - "Shit, you're cute." 

 

 


End file.
